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THE MAN FROM JERICHO 







THE MAN FROM 
JERICHO 


BY 

EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY 



NEW YORK 

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1911 



Copyright, 1911, by 
The Neale Publishing Company 


4 ISO 


©CI,A303407 


TO 

PADRE FRANCOIS 
Humanitarian and Friend 
FROM HIS Loving Son 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


1 



















CHAPTER I 


There had been a thunder-shower in the middle of 
the afternoon, but it had passed away about five 
o’clock, accompanied by sullen rumbles and intermit- 
tent flashes of uncertain lightning. Then the sun 
burst forth and poured its light over the drenched 
Kentucky landscape. It showed millions of diamonds 
and pearls strung upon the bending blades of blue- 
grass ; broad expanses of molten silver where the 
ponds lay, and smaller mirrors of the same metal 
where puddles had formed from the recent downpour. 
It showed boundless hoards of gold where the nas- 
turtiums were banked in a crimson mass, and the mot- 
tled bells of the rank trumpet-vines sent forth a silent 
summons to the answering sunshine. In the vivid 
green of a large oak tree a pair of orioles wove a 
wonderful pattern of living flame as they darted 
about among the boughs. Two honey-bees crawled 
out upon the tiny porch of their little home, and, 
being assured by the instinct which God gave them 
that the storm was over, arose on buzzing wings to 
seek some distant store of sweets. 

His attention being drawn by the sunlight bursting 
suddenly through the window of the library where he 
sat reading — ^to be exact, it fell upon the open page 
before his eyes — Major Thomas Dudley closed the 
book, leaving one long fore-finger between the leaves 


[ 9 ] 


10 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


to mark the spot where he had been interrupted, and 
turned to look outdoors. The scene which was spread 
before him brought a peaceful but sad smile to his 
face. For two hundred feet or more the broad yard 
sloped very gently down to the highway, from which 
it was separated by an iron fence of ornamental de- 
sign, but now much worn, and sadly bent and twisted 
in places. This yard was carpeted with a luxuriant 
expanse of bluegrass in which no alien growth was 
allowed to find root. There were a number of ma- 
jestic trees, of the oak and maple variety, and a few 
shrubs, nicely trimmed. A gravel driveway came up 
one side from the road, led by the old portico in front, 
and from thence disappeared towards the rear in the 
direction of the stable. Through the open window 
came the odour of honeysuckle, heavy and sweet ; the 
vine grew near the corner of the house. It was not a 
very sightly shrub, and it marred the wonderful cor- 
rectness of the lawn no little, but the Major had his 
reasons for letting it alone. As a matter of fact, the 
Major’s wife had planted it many years before, when 
their love-dream was at its height. Now she was gone, 
but it remained, and it helped to keep fresh and vig- 
orous the memories which made Thomas Dudley’s 
daily life a benediction to all who came within its 
radius. 

As the perfume from the tiny white and yellow 
flowers crept subtly to his nostrils — fine, delicate nos- 
trils they were, like those of a well-bred horse — a 
hungry, beseeching look stole over the old gentle- 
man’s face. He leaned forward and placed one hand 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


11 


upon the window-sill, while his eyes half closed, and 
his countenance became transfigured. Then, had any 
been watching, they would have seen his lips move, as 
though they were shaping words. 

At this point the sound of shuffling feet was heard 
coming from the hall running through the center of 
the house. Another moment a throat was cleared in 
the doorway, and an apologetic voice spoke. 

“Beg pahd’n, suh; but de Prince am ’peah to be 
bettah, suh. I went to de stable ez soon ez de rain 
quit to tek a look at ’im, ’n’ he hab come to he feed, 
suh, shoM” 

“Peter ! Peter ! What’s this you’re telling me ? 
The Prince eating again !” 

With remarkable activity the Major arose to his 
feet and faced about, eyeing with undisguised elation 
the figure in the doorway. It was that of a very old 
negro, bowlegged and bent. His face was brown, 
wrinkled and kindly in expression, with tiny cork- 
screws of gray hair, each totally isolated, dispersed 
over it. His head was flat and bald, but for a fringe 
of white wool shaped like the tonsure of a monk. Pie 
wore a rusty pair of trousers, so patched that it was 
impossible to tell what their original material had 
been ; a brown hickory shirt tolerably new, and sus- 
penders made of strips of bed-ticking. His huge feet 
were encased in a pair of old shoes, slit almost into 
shreds at the toes for the benefit of the “mis’ry” which 
he frequently had there. Such was Peter, faithful 
servant to the Dudleys before, during, and since the 
Civil War. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 




‘^Eatm\ suh; eatin\f'^ he answered, with vehemence, 
replying to his master’s question and accompanying 
the first and last words with a forward jerk of his 
head, by way of emphasis. 

“This is good news you bring me, boy; we must 
have a look at him. He’s the best bred horse in the 
Commonwealth,” he added, to himself, as he turned 
aside to place his book upon a table, carefully noting 
the page as he did so. “It would be a pity in more 
ways than one for him to die by accident or foul play.” 
Then aloud — “Have you seen your mistress re- 
cently 

“Not since dinner, suh. I’ze heerd her say afo’time, 
do, dat she laks a nap in de rainy ebenin’.” 

From somewhere above a voice broke out singing as 
Peter spoke. The tune was a popular air of the day, 
lilting and free. The tones were those of a young 
woman, for they rang with irrepressible vitality, and 
there was hope and laughter and faith and happiness 
in them. The Major had started forward, but now 
he stopped and his head sank as under a benediction. 
Likewise did Peter’s, for he always reflected his mas- 
ter. Thus they stood, types of the bond and the free, 
while that tender voice rang on above them as its 
owner moved about the room, for they could plainly 
hear her light footsteps going to and fro. 

In his younger years the Major must have been a 
man to command any one’s notice. Now, as he stood 
with his chin sunk in his stock under the spell of pres- 
ent enchantment and precious recollections of the 
past, one could behold the remnants of a magnificent 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


IS 


physical being. He was exceedingly tall, long of limb 
and square-shouldered. His hands were slender and 
white; his face naturally grave and thoughtful. He 
was clean shaven except for close cropped mustache 
and carefully cut imperial, both white. His com- 
plexion was ruddy, but whether this was natural or 
acquired it is not for us to say. Certain it is, how- 
ever, that Peter mixed his mint juleps three times a 
day a few minutes before each meal. Certain it is, 
also, that never in his long life had Major Dudley 
taken more whiskey at one time than was good for 
him. He held that it was a Kentucky gentleman’s 
prerogative to drink, in moderation, and he had the 
profoundest contempt for the weakling who would 
bestialize himself by getting drunk. “Whiskey, suh,'’ 
he would say, “is like every other luxury ; to be used, 
not abused.” 

The singing ceased, and there was the patter of 
feet on the stair. 

“She’s awake, Peter,” said the Major; “get my 
hat.” Then as he stepped into the hall — “News, 
daughter!” he cried, to the vision in pink and white 
muslin descending the curved stairway. “Peter re- 
ports that the Prince is eating. Will you go with me 
to see him.^” 

A little croon of delight escaped the vision, and the 
next instant she had settled like a butterfly upon the 
Major’s broad breast. “I knew he would get well!” 
she exclaimed, rising on tiptoe and pulling with both 
her hands on the shoulders of her father in a vain 
attempt to reach his lips with hers. He, seeing her 


14 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


purpose, caught her around the waist and lifted her 
bodily, though there was a matter of a hundred and 
twenty pounds to reckon with, and gave her the caress 
with a hearty smack. 

“You’ll have to learn to bring a stool along with 
you !” he panted ; “I’m getting too old to lift such a 
buxom lass.” But he smiled denial of his speech and 
patted her cheek fondly. 

Peter presenting his stove-pipe hat with a low bow, 
the Major took it, placed it upon his sparse gray 
locks, and drawing his daughter’s hand through his 
arm they passed out upon the long back porch, which 
had an eastern exposure, but was shaded all along its 
length by a species of vine which grew luxuriantly 
every summer. Peter preceded them, and Peter in 
motion was a sight to behold. It is useless to attempt 
to describe his method of locomotion. To one unfa- 
miliar with the peculiar gait of a “befo’ de wah” 
negro I can give no adequate picture of the old darkey 
as he shambled along over the large flat stones laid 
in a row which formed a walk to the gate of the lot 
wherein stood the stable. Behind him came the 
stately form of Major Dudley, and by his side Miss 
Julia, his only child, whose feet had just passed those 
elusive portals which give into the magical realms of 
young womanhood. 

“What has been the matter with The Prince, 
daddy queried the young lady, lifting an annoyed 
and earnest countenance which Nature had blessed, 
or banned, however one may regard unusual beauty. 

A deep furrow was immediately visible on Major 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


15 


Dudley’s forehead, indenting his brow just above his 
nose. It only came when he was angry, or intensely 
worried. His gray eyes gleamed with subdued re- 
sentment, and for the space of a few steps he did not 
answer. 

“We do not know,” he said, then, but he kept his 
eyes set straight ahead, instead of looking at his 
questioner. 

“But you have suspicions, daddy, dear,” she 
pleaded, coming closer to him, and pressing his arm 
gently. “Have you a right — have you the wish to 
keep these from me.^ Am I not Major Dudley’s 
daughter, and is not your blood my blood The 
Prince has been very sick. Com and hay don’t make 
a horse ill. What do you fear, daddy 

The old man stopped and faced his daughter. She 
was quite serious now. Her firm chin, her positive 
but pliant mouth, her deep brown eyes which showed 
courage, and the waving wealth of her chestnut hair, 
all made a quick pride rush to the Major’s heart, and 
brought a satisfied smile to his mouth. His stern eyes 
melted into tenderness and love. 

“My child, you shall know all I know ; all I suspect, 
rather, for nothing is positive. We — Peter and I — 
fear an attempt has been made to poison The Prince.” 
^^Daddyr 

The word struggled through an indrawn breath of 
horror. 

“The horse’s symptoms indicated this. Peter 
found him in time for an antidote which he admin- 
istered to be beneficial, else I fear we would have lost 


16 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


him. We examined the feed which had been given him 
last night, and found some of it mixed with a whitish 
powder. In view of this we could come to only one 
conclusion.” 

“Who—” 

The sentence which the girl’s lips started to frame 
died with the first word. Her lips met firmly, and a 
slow dread gathered in her eyes. 

From the highway not far off came the sound of a 
horse’s hoofs, running at full speed. The Major 
was facing the road, and the girl turned to see a horse- 
man dash furiously along the pike and disappear 
behind a fringe of trees which bordered the road far- 
ther on. Julia turned to her father, and saw written 
plainly upon his face a confirmation of her fears. 

“He.^” she breathed, awesomely. 

“Or an emissary. He is our only enemy, and in 
all his stable of thoroughbreds he has not one that can 
approach The Prince!” 

“Would he dare?” 

“Anything, little girl. — Come.” 

At the door of The Prince’s stall they stopped, and 
looked in eagerly. The horse recognized them, and 
whinnied feebly. Peter, with curry-comb and brush, 
was going over the splendid animal vigorously, though 
not a speck showed on his shining coat. 

“Better, suh I Better, young missus !” 

The old negro spoke encouragingly between the 
grunts caused by his exertion. 

“He am beginnin’ to tek notice. He et mos’ he 
feed, ’n’ he ’peared right glad to see me. I wush I 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


17 


c’d lay dese brack ban’s on de low-down skunk whut 
tech ’im ! I’d break his naik !” 

The Prince was standing a little stiffly, and his slen- 
der, patrician head hung lower than it should, but his 
breathing was not labored, and his eyes were bright 
and beaming with intelligence. 

“He’ll come, Peter; he’ll come!” said the Major, 
warmly. “He had a close call, but your prompt ac- 
tion saved him. You’re a good boy, Peter, and I 
commend you!” 

Peter grinned his appreciation, and rubbed the 
satin limbs with renewed vigour. 

“Yassuh, he’ll come all right, ’n’ w’en de race hit 
come, he’ll beat eb’ry one ob ’em! De boss ain’t 
folded whut kin tech ’im!” 

“I believe you, boy. Only once in a lifetime is a 
boss born like The Prince.” 

Julia slipped into the stall as her father was speak- 
ing and going up to the noble brute, put both arms 
around his neck and cuddled her cheek upon his 
shoulder. 

“Poor old fellow!” she murmured. “Have they 
used you badly because you belonged to us.^ Never 
mind. They shan’t do it again. Miss Julia loves you, 
and all of us love you, and we are going to take care 
of you.” 

The horse turned and muzzled the sleeve of her 
dress understandingly. 

The girl withdrew her arms and stroked his nose 
gently. As she rejoined her father there were tears 
in her eyes. 


18 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Put a new padlock on his door tonight, Peter,” 
cautioned the Major, as he turned to go, “and see that 
there are no loose planks which a sneakin’ assassin 
might prize off.” 

“I’ll fix ’im so tight dat a gnat can’t git in !” was 
the emphatic reply. “Dey shan’t git nigh ’im ag’in !” 

Julia was quiet as she and her father returned to 
the big house. Though her tongue was idle, her 
mind was busy. She was trying to elucidate this mys- 
tery of the attack on The Prince, Her father had 
said in as many words that he believed Devil Marston 
was at the bottom of it, but why should Devil Marston 
be so bitter against them.'^ Half forgotten incidents 
came back to her — things which had been glozed over 
or dismissed with a laugh. Marston had been at their 
home several times, but all at once he stopped coming. 
She remembered it now. The last time he came was 
at night, and she had seen him only long enough to 
speak to him in the hall as she was starting upstairs. 
She recalled now some loud words being spoken by 
him; the regulated tones of her father in reply, and 
that night the Major had paced his room till nearly 
morning. When she asked for an explanation the 
following day, her father had put her off by saying 
it was purely a business matter which it was best she 
should not know about. She had let it go at that at 
the time, although she wondered that a business call 
should have been so stormy. Now she realized that 
something was being kept from her; that her father 
was shielding her through love and mercy from some- 
thing she had a right to know. That had been in her 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


19 


girlhood, though only two years ago. But since then 
her mother had died, and during the following two 
years, which had brought her to twenty, she felt that 
she had grown to be a woman. She had met success- 
fully the responsibility of caring for the house, and 
she felt that she could equally meet any other respon- 
sibility touching her family. 

As they passed into the long hall again, the Major 
laid aside his hat and turned to the open library door 
to resume his reading. Julia gently detained him. 

“Daddy, what’s the trouble between Mr. Marston 
and us.'^” 

The old man’s face grew very grave. 

“Who spoke of trouble, lassie?” 

“Would a friend attempt so vile a thing as was 
attempted last night? He has grounds for his con- 
duct, or thinks he has. I want to know it all. I’m 
sure you never harmed any of his, or him. Then why 
does the man hate us? He must be very wicked, for 
no honorable enemy would employ such underhand 
methods of attack. Now tell me all about it, won’t 
you?” 

Major Dudley tilted her chin with his bent fore- 
finger, and gazed long and earnestly into the fearless 
eyes upheld to meet his own. 

“There are some things little girls shouldn’t know,” 
he said, finally. 

“Little girls, indeed!” she exclaimed, almost petu- 
lantly. “Won’t you ever realize that I’m a woman, 
though a young one, and can’t you trust your only 
daughter with a family secret, daddy dear?” 


20 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


It was quite evident that her feelings were on the 
verge of being wounded, for her lips were a little 
unsteady, and her eyes were reproachful. 

The reply came in a soft, reminiscent voice. 

“ ’Twas yesterday you were in pinafores, chasing 
butterflies by day and fire-flies by night, out yonder 
on the lawn. Are you really twenty?^' 

“Yes, sir; and I demand it as my right to share 
your burdens. The}’^ will be lighter so, for us both.” 

The Major sighed, and lifted his hand to his fore- 
head. 

“You are right, and I promise that you shall know. 
But not now — not now.” 

“In a day or two, then?” 

“Yes, in a day or two. Run along now and gather 
some flowers.” 

He bent to receive her kiss, and stood watching her 
as she moved with a free, swift step out onto the por- 
tico, into the yard, and over to a side fence where a 
mass of nasturtiums were rioting in a wealth of varie- 
gated colors. 

“That is where her life should be,” he murmured 
to himself ; “spent among blooming flowers, listening 
to the birds, caressed by sun and wind. Now she de- 
mands of me the story of Devil Marston’s hate, and 
I have to tell her. Why do innocent children have to 
grow up and taste of bitterness? Why must she 
know of man’s inhumanity, injustice and greed? O 
my little Julia, I would keep you from every thorn 
if I could ! This old breast would gladly take all that 
were meant for you, and not mind the sting! But 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO SI 

that is not God’s way, and His way is best. Poor 
child ! I wish it could be otherwise.” 

He passed slowly into the library, and sat down 
with his book. 

After the frugal evening meal, which Aunt Frances, 
Peter’s spouse, served with due punctiliousness, the 
Major sought his room, pleading fatigue. Really he 
sat alone, thinking, for a long time before going to 
bed. It was past ten o’clock when he finally arose, 
and going to a south window, looked out in the direc- 
tion of the stable. The night was starlit only, so he 
did not see a stealthly figure climb the rail fence en- 
closing the barn lot, and move swiftly across the 
intervening space to The Prince’s door. 


CHAPTER II 


As a town, Macon did not differ materially from its 
sister towns of like size throughout the State. It is 
true it was located on the border of the bluegrass, 
and this alone gave it a distinction which the penny- 
royal and mountain districts did not possess. The 
corporate limits of the place held about three thou- 
sand souls — black and white — and nobody ever got 
in a hurry. A quiet air of indolent aristocracy per- 
vaded the town. Shops were opened late, and if any 
one wished to buy, they were served courteously and 
languidly, but there was no “drumming for trade.” 
For all of its lazy atmosphere, it might have been 
located farther south. But its people were good 
people, on the whole, although they permitted saloons, 
and went wild over horse racing. And, best of all, 
they reverenced their women. A lady on the streets 
of Macon had respectful right of way. It may have 
been that they were duly proud of these three things, 
for they knew full well that nowhere in the world were 
nobler or more beautiful women, faster horses, or 
better whiskey. 

The nabobs of central Kentucky were a distinct 
and exclusive class in the years preceding the great 
Civil strife which freed the colored race. They had 
friends about them constantly, near and from a dis- 
tance. They gave large banquets and more often 


[ 22 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


2S 


drank immoderately; the}^ dressed in expensive and 
fashionable clothes, and had body servants galore. 
Each gentleman had a personal valet, to shave him 
every morning, attend to his wardrobe and be always 
within call. Another servant groomed his favorite 
horse, brought it around and held the stirrup while 
his master mounted, and was always on the spot when 
his master returned to have the bridle reins thrown 
to his waiting hands. 

Then came the war scourge, and the old order 
passed. Homes were broken up ; houses were pillaged 
and burned, bought and sold. Of the several stately 
homes surrounding Macon, but one or two remained 
in the family after the war. 

The Dudleys were an old family, proud as could 
be, and holding manual labor a disgrace. This faulty 
doctrine was due to heredity and training, and de- 
tracted in no way from the sterling manhood and 
womanhood which ran with the name. They had been 
wealthy people generations gone, living freely and 
without stint. Then came the days when one of them 
became a black sheep and killed a man while in liquor. 
It took most of the vast estate to save him from the 
gallows. When the war ended Major Thomas Dudley 
found that he had little left save a wife and child, the 
homestead, a half dozen horses of purest racing 
strain, and an eighty acre farm which would grow 
with equal abundance hemp, tobacco, corn or wheat. 
He would not work ; he could not work. Had a Dud- 
ley’s hand ever touched the handle of a plow? Never ! 
Welcome genteel starvation rather than ignoble toil! 


24 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


In the meantime the family had to live in befitting 
manner. One by one the servants, enticed by their 
new-found freedom, drifted away. At length only 
Peter and Aunt Frances were left, and the Major 
knew that his body servant would never go, for be- 
tween these two was that subtle, adamantine bond 
which rarely existed, but which, once formed, was 
indissoluble. 

Julia grew to girlhood, and the question of her edu- 
cation came up. There had never been a Dudley, 
male or female, who had not received a complete col- 
lege course. The Major avowed that Julia should 
go to boarding school, and he signed away the re- 
maining eighty acres with a hand which did not trem- 
ble in order that the traditions of his family should 
remain inviolate. Julia, ignorant of the sacrifice 
which had been made for her, went away three suc- 
cessive years, coming back the last time to find her 
mother dying. After Mrs. Dudley had been laid to 
rest in the little cemetery east of town, the daughter 
stepped into her place in the management of the 
household. Up to this time she had supposed her 
father had plenty, but the fact that they were almost 
poverty stricken became quickly revealed to her now. 
She met the situation with a brave and smiling face, 
and employed every art she knew to cut down ex- 
penses. About this time a number of shares of stock 
in the thriving Bank of Macon were placed on the 
market. Then Major Dudley severed the last tie 
which bound him to the old life. He was getting too 
old to give his horses proper attention. He sold them. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


25 


every one, retaining only a colt not quite a year old, 
and bought the bank stock. He had figured out that 
the dividends which this would bring would barely 
keep them in food and clothing, and pay the taxes on 
the home. The colt which he had held back from the 
sale he had given to Julia at its birth, and this was 
The Prince, the last member of the stables which in 
years gone by had been the wonder of all Kentucky. 

Peter, born to the care of fine horses, shadowed The 
Prince day and night. * Though well up in the seven- 
ties, he had broken the young horse to the saddle, and 
that without a fall. Then, shrewd old rascal that he 
was, one balmy night he had ridden the colt out to 
the race track, one mile from the town limits, and 
tested his speed. He had no watch wherewith to time 
the exploit, but he needed none, for had he not seen 
races ever since he was two feet tall ! The result had 
been marvelous. The Prince almost ran from under 
him, and he must needs cling on with heels and hands 
when the horse was in motion. When he slipped from 
his back in an ecstasy of joy, Peter knew that he 
stood beside the greatest race-horse that had ever 
touched Kentucky soil ! The old darkey was wild with 
delight, and could hardly wait till morning to tell the 
Major of his discovery. Major Dudley’s face beamed 
when the news was given him. 

“Keep it still, Peter,” he counselled, “and watch 
him. There’ll be racing here in July next year.” 

Winter passed and the Spring came again, and Peter 
hied himself and The Prince to the race track as soon 
as the earth became solid. He went always at night. 


26 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


and always alone, but a rumour began to spread 
through Macon and the county in general that' Major 
Dudley’s colt was a marvel, and could make a mile in 
two minutes flat. Certainly the story lost nothing by 
its constant re-telling, and while few believed it true, 
yet everyone confided it to his neighbor as a matter 
of gossip. 

Then came the night of the cowardly attempt upon 
The Prince’s life. 

The evening express from the north was due at 
Macon a quarter till eleven. The night of the day 
upon which Major Dudley had promised to his daugh- 
ter a revelation of certain things which had been kept 
hidden from her, this train was running fifteen min- 
utes late. The engineer was trying to make the time 
up, and in consequence the coaches were swaying and 
jerking over the rather imperfect roadbed. Crouched 
in the comer of a seat next the window sat a young 
man. It would have been impossible to form any idea 
of his physical appearance from the uncouth position 
which he had assumed. It was quite evident from this 
that he was traveling entirely alone. He had slipped 
down in his seat until his head was below the top of 
its back. His long legs were flexed so that his knees 
rested against the back of the seat in front of him. 
His shoulders, unusually broad and square, drooped 
somewhat, as from weariness ; his chin was sunk upon 
his shirt front, and his cap was pulled well down over 
his eyes, so that only a portion of his face could be 
seen. The line of shadow slanted across his face 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


rt 


sharply just at the cheek bone, revealing below it a 
smoothly shaven surface, and a chin as square and 
resolute as the shoulders. In common with the ma- 
jority of his fellow-passengers, he was dozing. The 
conductor came unsteadily up the aisle, fumbled at his 
cap band for the piece of paper sticking in it, then, 
observing that the man was asleep, he shook him gent- 
ly by the shoulder. The sleeper aroused readily, and 
in response to “Your’s next station,” nodded his head, 
and turned, as one will do the blackest night, to look 
out the window. This not with the purpose of seeing 
anything, but from some inexplicable force within. 

But the young man did see something — a dull glow 
was discernible in the sky, apparently a great distance 
away. To a sleep-befuddled brain it looked very much 
like the rose tints of morning, and John Glenning 
mechanically pulled out his watch, to smile at his stu- 
pidity the next moment, for it was not yet eleven. He 
glanced about the car and brought himself to an erect 
sitting posture with a quick exercise of the great fund 
of reserve strength which he undoubtedly possessed. 
His shoulders went back squarely against the seat, 
and his feet sought the floor. Then, as he pushed the 
cap off his eyes, his face became visible. It was a 
strong face, with jaw- and cheek-bones showing prom- 
inently. The forehead was good, almost square, and 
over one eye was a crescent-shaped scar, not livid, but 
standing out plainly against the white skin. His hair 
was black and straight, and his face wore a half mel- 
ancholy expression, which seemed habitual. 

After a casual and disinterested survey of the com- 


28 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


partment, he turned to the window again, placed his 
elbow upon the sill, and looked out into the night. 
The glow in the distance was still there. He judged 
it to be a fire, although no flames were yet visible. 
Just a dull red vapor seemed suspended, like an im- 
mense ruby, against the black draped breast of the 
sky, and on all sides of it the stars shone like rare 
gems. As this poetic thought struck Glenning, he 
smiled, as though pleased at the conception, and just 
then a long blast of the whistle told him that they were 
approaching his station. A moment later the door 
was flung open, admitting a rush of pure, sweet night 
air into the stuffy coach, and the flagman passed 
through, touching alternate seats with either hand to 
steady himself, and shouting “Macon! Macon!” 

Women began to rouse soundly sleeping children, 
men to stretch their arms and remark to their neigh- 
bors, and John also began to get himself together. 
He was near the door, and as the train came to a halt 
with jangling bell and escaping steam, he grasped his 
suit case and safely made his exit before the aisle be- 
came crowded. 

The place was entirely new to him, for his home 
had been in the north end of the State. The engine 
had stopped at the edge of a bisecting street, and just 
in front of it an arc light was suspended, which threw 
his surroundings into view uncertainly. Back of him 
was the bulk of a water tank ; to the front, and at one' 
side, the station. People were hurrying to board the 
train, and packages and trunks were being hastily 
dumped from the open door of the express car onto a 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^9 


truck drawn alongside. A number of forms moved 
vaguely about — that pitiful, shiftless class which no 
small town can eliminate, who had merely come to “see 
the train come in.” All this Glenning saw in the 
twinkling of an eye, and then he started briskly up 
the crushed rock space which served for a platform. 
Opposite the tender of the engine were two or three 
men, one of them a negro, standing abreast, toeing an 
invisible line and bawling lustily the names of differ- 
ent hotels. Glenning stopped for a moment in front 
of a row of hands eagerly outstretched, and just then 
the words “Union House !” came to his ears through 
the din of jumbled voices. He remembered suddenly 
that a friend had told him this was the best hotel in 
the place, so he resigned his suit case to the care of the 
one who had yelled “Union House !” and fell in with 
the straggling line of people streaming up town. 

Above the babel of the hotel criers, and the slow, 
muffled puffs of the inert engine, a new sound now 
throbbed through the air — the clanging, tumultuous 
notes of a sharp-toned bell, rung with fury. The 
people nearest John pricked up their ears, and he 
heard the sinister query, “Where’s the fire?” 
“Where’s the fire?” repeated on all sides. No one 
knew, and those who had been from home, and had 
returned on the train, hastened their steps, some 
breaking into a run, for none knew whose household 
goods were in danger. The panic spirit seized Glen- 
ning, too, for henceforth his life was to be in this 
place, and with these people, and he found himself 
running with the others. Covering a short square. 


30 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


they turned into the main street of Macon, where 
confusion reigned. Men were dashing about in the 
middle of the street, shouting to each other, and an 
ancient fire engine had just been dragged into view, 
with the hook-and-ladder wagon trailing in its wake. 
Glenning ran towards the engine, which had halted 
in the center of the highway, and at which some strip- 
lings were tugging in a vain effort to move it. 

“Where’s the horses.^ Where’s the fire company.^” 
demanded the newcomer, hurriedly, stopping in per- 
plexity. 

“Men is the bosses that pull this old water-bug!” 
volunteered one of the youths, ceasing his efforts to 
move the antiquated vehicle ; “ ’n’ the fire comp’ny’s 
anybody that’s got spunk ’nough to fight fire !” 

As these words were spoken a number of men 
reached the scene, some of them bareheaded and wear- 
ing only shoes, trousers and shirts, and pounced upon 
the engine like wolves upon a carcass. 

“Come on!” “Lend a hand!” “Git holt!” “Push!” 
“Pull!” 

These and divers other excited exclamations rang 
out, and in the cupola directly overhead the brazen 
tongued bell sent out its warning, appeal and encour- 
agement in vibrant and deafening tones. 

Glenning needed no spurring on. His hands v^ere 
the first to fall into place, and with rumble and rush 
the Macon Fire Company started on its errand of 
succour. The hook-and-ladder wagon, being lighter, 
was dragged along by half grown boys, who took a 
keen delight in emulating, both in speed and endur- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


31 


ance, their elders in the lead. To the accompaniment 
of yelping dogs, men in vehicles and men on horse- 
back, the procession rushed madly up Main street, 
rudely disturbing the calm serenity of the summer 
night. As he ran, doing his full stint of work, and 
more, the athletic stranger cast his eyes about in a 
vain effort to locate the conflagration. He turned to 
the man running nearest him. 

“Do you suppose it’s out.'^ I can see no sign of it 
now.” 

“No; it ain’t out! Cemetery hill’s in the way. 
There’s been nothin’ to put it out. An old white man, 
a girl and two old niggers couldn’t do much with a 
house on fire!” 

Glenning noticed from the straggling houses and 
vacant lots that they were nearing the edge of town. 

“Where is it, anyway.?” he asked. “In the coun- 
try.?” 

The man puffed and blew before making reply. 

“Mile from the court house, ever’body says. I 
b’lieve it’s a mile and a quarter. Seems like three or 
four tonight !” 

He dashed the perspiration from his eyes, and set- 
tled to his work afresh. John looked at him again, 
and in the dim starlight, to which his eyes had become 
accustomed, he saw that the man was young and soft. 
His hands showed white, his face was purple from 
exertion, and his breathing was stertorous. 

“Pretty tough on a fellow who stays indoors, isn’t 
it.?” queried Glenning, pleasantly. 

“You — bet! Stranger, ain’t you.?” 


32 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Just came on the train tonight.” 

“You must be — mightily interested — in these 
people !” 

“I’m going to make this place my home.” 

“Uh-huh. I know you — ^now. You’re the — new 
doctor !” 

“Yes. My name’s John Glenning.” 

“Pleased to — meet you — doctor! I’m Tom Dil- 
lard. Work — in bank!” 

“I’m glad to know you. You’re my first acquaint- 
ance here. It’s harder work pushing a fire engine 
than it is pushing a pen, isn’t it.^” 

Mr. Dillard grinned acquiescence. 

“Con — siderahle!'* he gasped. 

“Whose house is it that’s burning .J”’ continued 
Glenning. 

“Must be — Major Dudley’s; no other house out — 
here close.” 

At this juncture they rounded a sharp curve in the 
road, and came in full view of the fire, now close at 
hand. 

“Stable!” exploded Mr. Dillard, and everybody 
redoubled their exertions at the same moment, render- 
ing further conversation out of the question. 

The surrounding landscape was brilliantly lighted 
by the leaping flames, and Glenning saw that they 
were sweeping by a large, well kept lawn, back of 
which rose a most pretentious old home. On they 
dashed to a gate, which some thoughtful person had 
previously opened, and which let into a meadow ad- 
joining the stable lot. The people who had started 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


in buggies and on horseback had all arrived, and a 
number of them now came forward to relieve the men 
who had brought the engine out. Most of these will- 
ingly resigned their places, but Glenning stuck to his, 
and Dillard, who was preparing to step aside, gath- 
ered fresh courage, and remained also. The old en- 
gine was rushed furiously across the meadow and 
into the lot, in the midst of a shrill bedlam of excited 
cries, most of them conveying directions and sugges- 
tions entirely futile. In one corner of the lot, near the 
doomed stable, an old negro was waving his arms 
frantically and jumping up and down, yelling at 
every jump in a high falsetto. 

“Hyar’s de well ! Hyar’s de well ! Hyar’s de well ! 
Bring de ingine hyar ; Hyar’s de water ! Hyar’s de 
well !” 

Whether his penetrating tones reached the relief 
party, or whether some person nearer to hand gave 
the information, does not matter. But the engine was 
quickly rolled in position and the hose unwound. 
Peter seized the end of the hose which was being borne 
towards him, and plunged it into the well’s black 
mouth. 

Morel MoreT^ he screamed, tugging at the sinu- 
ous rubber tube like a madman. “De water’s down 
dah ! Come on wid it !” 

Willing hands unwound the coil, and Peter paid it 
out. Down went the hose, and presently the old negro 
jumped to his feet. 

^^Pumpr he shrieked; “put de water dah!” 

Then, for fear he would not be understood, he ran 


34 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


like a monkey towards the burning building. Stop- 
ping just outside the radius of the fiercest heat, he 
pointed towards an open door. 

“Dah ! In dah ! Pour hit in dah ! De Prince won’ 
come out ! I try git ’im out, but he won’ come ! Pump 
de water on ’im!” 

In the midst of his exhortations a score of hands 
grasped the handles and began to pump. But no 
water came! In vain the long handles went up and 
down. Something had gone wrong with the mech- 
anism of the machine. A blacksmith was present, and 
he began an examination. In the meanwhile the fire 
grew prodigiously, and suddenly a horse’s unearthly 
scream of terror and pain rent the air. Few had ever 
heard this sound before, and it struck a note of hor- 
ror upon every soul assembled there. The cry of a 
horse in mortal distress is utterly indescribable, but 
it is a demon tone which makes cowards of strong 
men. The mixed crowd drew back in fear, thinking 
tlie imprisoned animal might make a sudden break 
and trample them in his rush. Even the smith, who 
had been vainly searching for the hitch in the pump- 
ing gear of the engine, crawled from under the use- 
less thing and retreated with the others. So it hap- 
pened, almost without his knowing it, that John Glen- 
ning was left standing alone by the deserted engine. 
The intense glare showed up his figure well. He was 
tall and lean, but his shoulders had a look of great 
strength, and his face, upon which the light was 
dancing, was calm and purposeful. The old negro 
had sunk to the ground, and with his face hidden in 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


his crossed arms, was rocking to and fro, moaning 
ceaselessly. Following the horse’s awful scream, and 
the subsequent rush backward, fell a dead silence, dis- 
turbed only by the cracking and snapping of seasoned 
wood as the fire ate up its fibres, and the low under- 
tone of Peter’s dolorous wails. Then plainly to Glen- 
ning’s ears came a woman’s muffled sobs, and he heard 
a voice tense with distress exclaim — 

“My poor Prince ! O my poor Prince !” 

J ohn wheeled half way around abruptly, and 
looked in the direction from whence the voice had 
come. He beheld two people standing partly aside, 
and well back. A tall, erect old man whose disordered 
apparel indicated the haste with which he had dressed, 
and a girl clinging despairingly to his arm, clad only 
in a white night robe with a shawl thrown about her 
shoulders and held tightly over her breast with one 
clenched hand. The old man’s face was mask-like, 
but there was a deep furrow in the middle of his fore- 
head, and his eyes blazed with repressed anger. The 
young woman was pitiful to the respectful but pene- 
trating eyes of Glenning. Her hair, braided for the 
night, hung over her shoulder, down to her waist. 
Her face was drawn with anguish which she could not 
hide, and in her big eyes was a living sorrow. As he 
looked at her she caught his gaze, and upon that 
instant she left the old man’s side, ran a few steps 
forward, and with both arms stretched towards him, 
with her hands clasped, her voice rang out in an 
agony of entreaty. 

“Save The Prince ! O, save him if you are a man ! 


86 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


If he is burned to death it will kill me ! He is there — 
there !” 

She pointed towards the open doorway before which 
a red veil was shimmering and waving, then turned to 
the old man, threw her arms around his neck and hid 
her face on his breast, while her whole form shook 
with uncontrollable sobs. 

Dazed for a moment by this direct appeal, and by 
the very evident beauty of his petitioner, Glenning 
stood without moving. Then from the huddled 
crowd, apathetic and silent, burst the figure of a man, 
running towards the stable. He came swiftly, and 
Glenning saw only a low, heavily-built person. But 
as he sped by the new doctor saw his face, and shud- 
dered. It was dark, brutish, treacherous, devilish. 
Then the man was gone towards the open door. The 
girl had turned in time to behold this man’s actions, 
and on her countenance was repulsion and disgust. 
The onrushing form had nearly reached his goal 
when a sudden shifting of the breeze concentrated the 
flames and dashed them into his face with a spiteful 
hiss. He stopped as though smitten, staggered and 
fell back, choked and coughing. With his hands to 
his face he reeled over into a patch of weeds, calling 
hoarsely for water. Glenning looked at the girl 
again, and in her eyes was a dumb appeal. The man’s 
mouth squared in quick decision, and in a second his 
lassitude became transformed into vigorous action. 
He took off his coat with a few dextrous movements, 
and holding it as a shield before his face, quickly drew 
near the door now guarded by a wall of shifting fire. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


37 


He felt the hot air rushing into his lungs as he ad- 
vanced, but he never flinched. Drawing a deep breath, 
he leaped hard, and passed over the jealously guarded 
portals. Faintly to his ears came the resounding 
cheer which accompanied this feat. But he had 
sterner work before him than to receive merely the 
praise of those who watched him from a safe distance. 
He was alone in a fiery furnace; caged with a mad- 
dened animal. He realized that his work must be 
done at once, or he would perish miserably. 

Outside, the crowd inched nearer. Renewed silence 
had succeeded Glenning’s successful entrance into the 
stall of The Prince, and under this strange stillness 
they came closer, in a body, breathing awesomely and 
straining their eyes to see. But the waving curtain 
of flame baffled their peering gaze. Only once they 
saw a dark, writhing bulk bey^ond the gleaming bar- 
rier, then this was hidden. Major Dudley and Julia 
had not changed their positions. But upon his face 
now shone the light of hope, while the girl’s was stony 
with despair and dread. The brief moments were as 
leaden-footed hours, and time changed into eternity 
for the anxious hearted watchers. No sound now but 
the crackling of wood and the subtle swish of flames, 
and far off in the shadows at the rear of the lot a sub- 
dued coughing, where Devil Marston crouched and 
nursed his scorched lungs, and cursed the unknown 
man who had gone where he could not go. The stable 
was large, and the conflagration was now at its height, 
and it presented a gorgeous, if harrowing, spectacle. 
Red and yellow and dun streamers shot skyward. 


38 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


shaking out their serpentine lengths, wrapping and 
twining about each other, dying if a breath of wind 
touched them, only to be succeeded by others, fiercer 
and longer and more vivid. Crawling, hissing, crim- 
son serpents of heat disported over the trembling roof 
of the building, and myriad of sparks would rise on 
columns of rose-tinted smoke when a bit of timber 
dropped. And deep in the very heart of all this hell, 
burned, blinded, suffocated and weak, a brave soul 
wrestled with imminent and torturing death, because 
a woman had looked twice into his eyes and asked for 
help, if he were a man ! 

There came a change. Less than a minute had 
elapsed since Glenning had committed himself to al- 
most certain death. Then the watchers saw a move- 
ment at the flame-hung door. An indistinguishable 
something seemed trying to force its way out. At 
this moment, as though fortune truly favored the 
brave, the veering wind caught the red curtain and 
drew it aside as gently as though done by a lady’s 
hand. Out from the inferno within sprang a man, 
his clothing covered with little red tongues, his face 
blackened and his hair singed and disordered. After 
him, with the man’s coat bound over his head, the 
sleeves tied under his throat, completely blindfolding 
him, came The Prince. Glenning swung on to his 
halter, and as the falling sparks nipped the horse 
afresh he reared hugely and lunged forward with 
demoniacal fury. The man’s spent strength could 
not cope with this final outburst. The horse bore him 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


59 


down, rushed over him, and the crowd scattered right 
and left to seek safety. 

Peter, with a shrill cry of joy, ran to the prostrate 
figure and drew it farther away from the fire. As he 
laid the rescuer of The Prince down Julia was there to 
receive his head in her lap. Her face was white as the 
gown she wore, but her voice was clear as she spoke. 

“Peter, go for a doctor ! Daddy, bring some water, 
please.” 

She gently placed her hand upon the smoke-grimed 
forehead, and while the crowd lingered to await the 
outcome. Devil Marston stole away with curses deep 
and vile, and set his dark face towards home. 


CHAPTER III 


When Glenning opened his eyes the next morning 
he lay quiet a long time, staring at the figure seated 
by his bedside. At first he was at a total loss to 
understand where he was, but a sharp pain in his 
lungs when he breathed, and sundry irritating, 
prickly places about his face and head, brought back 
to him the events of the past night. But he was a 
philosophical fellow, and while he felt a deep grati- 
tude welling up in his heart for young Tom Dillard, 
he could not help smiling at the appearance his newly- 
found friend presented that morning. It was quite 
plain to Glenning’s still befuddled intellect that Dil- 
lard had elected to stay with him and take care of him 
during the night. The bank clerk’s figure was almost 
corpulent in daylight, and this was emphasized by the 
attitude he had assumed. He had evidently deter- 
mined not to go to sleep, but the relaxation and abso- 
lute quiet succeeding the excitement at the burning of 
the stable had proven too much for him. Now he sat 
with his heels on a rung of the chair, his knees drawn 
up, while his head had sunk forward till it almost 
touched them. In this position he bore a striking 
resemblance to a butterball, and when Glenning first 
saw him he was slumbering with much effort, because 
his breathing was hampered by his cramped posture. 


[ 40 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


41 


There was something in it all over-poweringly funny 
to John, and presently he chuckled aloud. Where- 
upon his watcher gave a little snort and opened his 
eyes, round, blue, and innocent as a child’s. 

“Bless me, if I haven’t been asleep !” exclaimed Dil- 
lard, a bit sheepishly. Then — “How are you feeling, 
doctor 

“Chipper as a lark — considering!” was the hearty 
answer. “But I hope I’ll never come closer to hell 
than I did last night,” he added. 

Dillard shivered at the recollection, and a look of 
commiseration crept to his face. 

“It’s clear past me how you did it,” he replied, can- 
didly. “Log chains and a traction engine couldn’t 
have pulled me in that place. But you’ve fixed your- 
self all right with the people, I guess. I’ll bet your 
name has gone all over this old town long before 
now.” 

“I didn’t do it for what the people would think, 
though I do want their good will. But did you see 
the look on that girl’s face when she spoke? I 
couldn’t have done anything else. Where are we.? — 
hotel?” 

“Yes, this is your room at the Union House. We 
thought you were out of the game for good at first. 
You don’t remember anything after the horse ran 
over you? Well, the Dudley’s old nigger, Peter, 
dragged you away from the heat, and Miss Julia 
made a pillow of her lap for your head. They were 
for taking you up to the house and caring for you, 
for you did them a greater service than you’ll ever 


42 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


know when you pulled that obstreperous colt out of 
the fire. But I knew that wouldn’t do, because they’re 
not situated to entertain well folks, let alone sick ones, 
so I got a buggy, piled you in, and drove here as fast 
as I could. As luck would have it, old Doctor Kale 
was passing just as we got here — had been making a 
country call — and I hailed him. We got you up here 
and brought you around, though I don’t suppose you 
remember anything about it, for you were kind o’ 
flighty. Old Kale washed you off and patched you 
up, and gave you something to make you sleep 
soundly. I volunteered to sit up with you and watch, 
but I played the devil a-doin’ it ! Kale said he’d call 
around again this mornin’ to see you. He’s a gruff 
old cuss, but good hearted. He often swears at his 
men patients if they don’t obey him to the letter. I 
tell you this now, so you won’t be surprised at any- 
thing he may say to you.” 

Glenning put out a blackened hand from the back 
of which the hair had been singed away. Dillard saw 
his intention, and took it readily. 

“I hope you’ll let me be your friend,” said the new 
doctor, appreciation beaming in his eyes. “I can’t 
tell you just all I feel for the way you’ve stuck by 
me, a total stranger, who had not the slightest claim 
upon your time, or care. But I shan’t forget it. A 
life-long chum couldn’t have done more, and I want 
to assure you that my gratitude is the kind that lasts. 
I don’t know what’s in store for me here, but I’ve come 
to stay. And I’m going to make good if toil, and 
hard work, and conscientious pains count for any- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


thing. I was climbing fast back — where I came from, 
but it became best for me to leave. Not because I had 
to. There’s nothing back there I’m ashamed of. 
You’re the first person here who’s been kind to me, 
and I did nothing to deserve it. I shall remember it 
always.” 

He pressed the soft, flabby hand which he held, and 
withdrew his arm. 

Dillard’s face reddened at this speech. He made a 
few awkward movements with his hands, and then 
spoke, in an abashed way. 

“I’ve done nothin’, doctor, to make a fuss about, 
but I’ll be mighty glad to be your friend. I imagine 
a fellow with the stuff in him that you are made of 
would be worth having for a friend.” 

He drew out his watch and looked at it, rising 
quickly as he noted the time. 

“It’s getting late. By the time I get breakfast and 
reach the bank it’ll be close onto nine. I’m glad 
you’re lookin’ so well. Don’t try to get up today. 
I’ll call in at noon for a minute. Good-bye.” 

He leaned over the bed and pressed Glenning’s 
hand again, then took his hat and withdrew, closing 
the door gently behind him. 

When his fat friend had departed, Glenning me- 
chanically sent his eyes around the room. It con- 
tained, besides the bed upon which he lay, the cus- 
tomary washstand, dresser, table and two chairs. 
His clothes lay upon one of these chairs, and he looked 
in a rather disinterested way at the scorched and 
burned garments, now rendered totally useless. Then 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


U 

his mind flew back to those awful moments in the stall 
with The Prince, and he shut his eyes and groaned 
audibly. The door to his room opened, and he heard 
the clinking of dishes. He looked, and saw a waiter 
bearing a tray to the table in the center of his room. 
The young fellow deposited his burden, then glanced 
towards the bed with respectful eyes, as some might 
gaze upon a hero overthrown. 

“Here’s your breakfast, sir. I’ll bring it closer if 
you want me to. Mr. Dillard told us you were awake 
and feeling pretty well, so Mr. Travers thought you 
might be hungry.” 

“Thank you,” returned Glenning. “I’ll be getting 
up presently. You needn’t wait.” 

The boy moved reluctantly to the door. He had 
his hand on the knob, then turned. 

“I didn’t go to the burnin’ o’ ol’ man Dudley’s 
barn,” he vouchsafed, in a rather high, scared voice, 
“but if I’d knowed what you’s goin’ to do I wouldn’t 
’a’ missed seein’ you pull that hoss out. The town’s 
wild about it.” 

Without waiting for a reply of any sort, the 
speaker ducked through the door and slammed it 
after him. It had taken a deal of courage for him to 
deliver his speech, but he was determined to say it. 

Glenning eyed the disarray of dishes dubiously. 
Some of them appeared cold, while the faint odour 
which crept to his nostrils from the others was not at 
all savory. But the rich aroma of coffee blended with 
the other sftiells, and he was on the verge of making 
an effort to rise when there came a faint rap upon his 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


45 


door. It was so faint that John was not sure he had 
heard it. He was quite certain there had been no 
sound of footsteps. As he lay with his head in an 
expectant attitude the rap came again — two little 
pecking knocks, given timorously. The man on the 
bed relaxed, drew the cover which he had thrown 
partly aside up to his chin, and invited whoever it 
was to enter, in a fairly strong voice. 

Then a most extraordinary thing happened at the 
door. The knob was deliberately turned, then re- 
leased. Again it was turned, and the door carefully 
opened about two inches. It remained this way for 
the space of a breath or two, then the aperture was 
widened by perhaps another two inches. Glenning 
was puzzled. If some one was pranking, the sport 
was certainly very innocent. By almost imperceptible 
degrees the door kept coming open, and then a bald, 
brown, sleek skull, surrounded by a fringe of white 
wool, came within the range of vision of the watcher 
on the bed. Peter looked slowly all around the room, 
and the last object his eyes alighted upon was the 
man. Then he completed his entrance in a compara- 
tively rapid manner, bobbing his head unceasingly, 
and being careful to see that the door was latched 
behind him. Then he bowed profoundly. 

“Mawnin’, suh! I hope you’s bettuh, suh! De 
Prince am not hu’t much, ’n’ de folks feel putty peart, 
suh ! De Lawd bress yo’, suh — doctuh — ’n’ keep yo’ 
twel de day o’ Jedgment fo’ savin’ dat’ deah colt whut 
would ’a’ buhned to a cracklin’ but fo’ you. Yes, suh ! 
Dis ol’ nigguh gwi’ ax de Lawd’s blessin’ on you night 


46 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


’n’ ma^vnin’, ’n’ I’m ’bleeged to yo’, suh, fo’ whut you 
done las’ night!” 

Glenning had no difficulty in recognizing in his 
effusive caller the old negro who had played a star 
part in the barn lot. But there was something which 
claimed his attention above the volubility of Peter, 
and that was a square envelope, tinted a delicate blue, 
which the darky carried in one of his wrinkled hands. 

“Thank you, old gentleman,” he said, “for your 
interest and your kindness. I hope the Dudleys did 
not suffer from exposure last night.” 

“De young missus tek a li’l col’, suh, but de Major, 
suh, am all right — I’m ’bleeged to yo’.” He made 
another profound obeisance. “I wuz sent dis mawnin’, 
suh — doctuh — by de fojks to ’quiah ob yo’ health, suh, 
’n’ gib dis lettuh into yo’ han’. It was writ by de 
Major, ’n’ gib to me by de young missus, who says, 
says she — ‘Peter, gib dis to de man whut save our 
Prince, ’n’ to nobody else.’ Here it am, suh. I 
cyaried it on top o’ my haid under my hat right to 
yo’ do’, kase I’s feared I’d lose it.” 

He shambled across the room and gave the missive 
to the hand stretched out to receive it. 

“I mus’ be goin’ now, suh — doctuh — but I’s ’spress- 
ly to ax how yo’ wuz.^” 

“Present my sympathy and respects to your folks, 
and assure them I am not hurt — only a few bruises 
and burns which do not annoy me in the least. Say, 
in fact, that you left me feeling well.” 

“Thank yo’, suh — doctuh — ’n’ you’re a man whut 
is a man I” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


47 


With this parting encomium, which to his mind 
represented the acme of praise, Peter shuffled to the 
door, bowed again, and went out. 

“Heigh-ho !” mused Glenning. “It seems, indeed, 
that ‘there is a tide in the affairs of men.’ From what 
I can hear I have started in well. Let’s see what that 
fine looking old gentleman has to say.” 

Tearing the tough fibre of the paper with some 
difficulty, he drew out the folded sheet, and opened it. 
The handwriting was angular, legible, and painfully 
correct. The ink was brownish, as though it had 
been watered often. He read rapidly. 

“Dear Doctor Glenning: 

“This morning we learned the name of the heroic 
stranger who did us such unparalleled service last 
night upon the occasion of the burning of our stable. 
We wish to convey to you at the earliest moment a 
sense of our profound gratitude for your noble act. 
My daughter and I feel that we can never repay the 
debt under which you have placed us by your mar- 
velous bravery. I shall call this afternoon to thank 
you in person, and I pray you will at all times con- 
sider our house your own. The colt is practically un- 
injured. It is our prayer that you have not suffered 
seriously. 

“Your obliged and obedient servant, 

“Thomas Dudley.” 

“Fine!” breathed Glenning. “A little stilted, per- 
haps, but true and sincere. He means every word. 


48 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Writes like a Clay or a Webster. There’s blood back 
of it — Kentucky bluegrass blood. And she — she did 
not know she was a queen of tragedy last night when 
she made her appeal. Who could that have been who 
tried to get in ahead of me? Ugh! He was a devil! 
When she saw him coming she looked daggers of scorn 
and contempt. There’s something back of it all, I’ll 
wager. Could that terrible thing dare to love her, I 
wonder? If he does, it’s one-sided. But she’s beau- 
tiful! I’d go into another burning stable tonight if 
she looked at me as she did then, and asked me.” 

As he folded the letter and slipped it back into the 
envelope he suddenly realized that his coffee must be 
getting cold. He smiled at the incongruity of the 
thought, but he was very hungry, so he essayed to 
rise. The effort necessary to get onto his elbow 
brought numerous darting pains to a dozen places at 
once, and made his temples throb. But his firm j aws 
were not for nothing, and presently his feet were on 
the floor and he was standing upright, dizzy, and 
holding to the head of the bed. His chest burned as 
though coals of fire were laid upon it. He waited 
a few moments, battling with physical weakness, then 
steered an uncertain course for the washstand. How 
sweet was the touch of cool water on his hot, parched 
face ! He dashed it over his head and neck and face 
by the handsful and felt his brain clear as if by magic. 
And there is magic in a basin of cold water, as any- 
one can testify. Directly he set about dressing. His 
trunk arid suit case sat in a corner, and when he had 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


49 


donned underwear, shirt and trousers his strength 
left him, and he feebly sought a chair by the table and 
gulped down the coffee. Then, by sheer force of will, 
he began to eat. The food was half cold, and not 
good. It would not have been good had it come just 
from the oven, but it gave strength, nevertheless. The 
man felt the elation of returning vigour as he ate. 
His meal was not half finished when a hurried, thump- 
ing step was heard in the corridor without, his door 
was unceremoniously and roughly opened, and Doctor 
Kale entered. He was a man getting along in life; 
full bearded, grizzled. His beard and hair curled 
slightly, and beneath his rather heavy brows keen, 
kind eyes danced incessantly. He was not very par- 
ticular as to his apparel. His clothing was baggy, 
and none too clean. He wore boots, with his trousers 
legs pulled down over them. His vest was secured by 
the bottom button alone. There was a row of but- 
tons, but only one was used. This left exposed to 
fullest view a shirt front which had doubtless been 
clean when the garment to which it belonged had been 
first put on, but which was now flecked and streaked 
with yellow stains which showed plainly that its 
wearer used tobacco. A derby hat of a past age was 
on his head, and he carried a medicine case much bat- 
tered from long use. His right leg was shorter than 
his left — rheumatism had done it — and this accounted 
for his peculiar gait. He stopped in blank surprise 
for a moment when he saw his erstwhile patient sitting 
up and eating, then the vials of his wrath exploded. 


50 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“What in the devil do you mean by getting up, 
young man?” he thundered. “Get back in bed! 
You’ll die! You won’t live till night!” 

He placed his case on the floor, took a handkerchief 
from his pocket and removed his hat, and fiercely took 
a turn or two up and down the room, mopping his 
head and face as he went. It was well for Glenning 
that a friend had prepared him for this visit. 

“Pardon me for not rising to meet you. Doctor 
Kale,” he said, feeling his risibles stirring, and en- 
deavoring to maintain a steady countenance. “But 
I feel much better, thanks to your attention.” 

“Any fool could have washed the dirt off and stuck 
court plaster on you,” growled the caller, still bellig- 
erent. “How do you know my name, and who told 
you you might get up?” 

“The young man who spent the night with me told 
me you would call this morning, and I got tired lying 
in bed with nothing the matter with me — ” 

“Nothing the matter with you1 Why, you’re 
burned, and cut, and thumped, and bruised. It’s a 
wonder the Lord let you off alive for being such an 
idiot. It seems to me you’d have had better sense than 
to go in a burning stable just to pull out one good- 
for-nothing horse which don’t earn its hay !” 

“Circumstances were such that I had no other 
choice,” answered Glenning, a bit distantly. 

“Circumstances !” sniffed Doctor Kale. “Yes, I 
heard about the circumstances, and when you’ve lived 
as long as I have, you won’t butt your head into a 
little hell every time a pretty girl winks !” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


51 


The blood rushed to John’s face, and even Dillard’s 
warning did not serve to check his tongue. 

“She didn’t wink !”'he retorted, rather hotly. “But 
she asked for help, and I gave it to her, as any man 
would !” 

The caller cast a sidelong glance at the figure by 
the table, then stumped over to the bed and sat down 
upon it. 

“Tom Dillard told me that you were the new doctor 
the Herald said was coming here to locate, and that 
your name was Glenning.” 

“Yes, John Glenning is my name, and my profes- 
sion is the same as yours.” 

“Well, it’s a damn bad one!” ejaculated Doctor 
Kale. “That is, the profession ain’t so bad, but it’s 
a worrisome and unappreciative life. It’s a hard way 
to earn a living, young man, and if you hadn’t started 
in it I’d advise you to try something else, even if it 
was beating rock on the county road. People expect 
you to be always ready, day or night, to jump up and 
run to them, even if you are sick yourself. Then you 
are the last man they want to pay when it comes time 
to settle, and they always think you’re trying to rob 
them. I’ve worn my life away trying to serve them, 
and they call me a skinflint and a miser because I own 
one or two nigger shacks and try to save what little 
I make ! You’ve come to a mighty poor place to make 
your fortune, and it’s a mighty hard life you’re be- 
ginning.” 

“I’ve practiced some already, and did not find the 
work hard, or uncongenial. And I also found people 


52 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


very obliging. But I love the work, doctor, and I 
suspect that counts for a great deal !” 

“Love it !” snorted Doctor Kale ; “I never did love 
it! It’s slavery — a dog’s life! Here, last night, I 
was coming in from the country tired to death and 
headed for bed, when that fool Dillard held me up 
and hauled me up here to work on you! Don’t you 
see.P Work, work, work!” 

“But that’s what we’re put here for. Emploj^ment 
is our salvation. Suppose everybody stopped work. 
What would happen to the world . . . But you 

did a good job with me, and you must permit me to 
compliment your skill.” 

Unknowingly Glenning had found the vulnerable 
spot in the old fellow’s armour. His eyes took on a 
kinder gleam, but the look he bent on the young man 
was not unmixed with suspicion. 

“Think I helped you, eh.^ Maybe I did. I’ve fooled 
around diseased and mistreated bodies the most of a 
lifetime, and I ought to know something, if I don’t. 
Where’re you from.? The Herald said, but I can’t 
remember.” 

“Jericho. It’s rather in the northeastern part of 
the State. Not large; something like this place in 
population.” 

“D’you take this for a hamlet, young man.?” fired 
up Doctor Kale. “Fifth class city, sir, and we’re 
growin’ by the minute.” 

“No offense, I’m sure,” smiled Glenning. “You 
must remember I haven’t seen your tow — citv^ bv 
daylight.” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


53 


“You’ve seen the prettiest thing in it by firelight, 
though.” 

A swift change had come over the combative fea- 
tures of Doctor Kale, and his wrinkled face bore a 
reminiscent look. There was a distant expression in 
his eyes ; he seemed to be gazing into the past. 

Glenning pushed the tray and its contents away 
and leaned his head on his hand. 

“The prettiest woman in the county, and I might 
say in Kentucky,” mused the man on the bed. 

He got up and walked limping to his patient, and 
as he began an examination of hidden bandages and 
general physical condition his flow of talk continued 
in a wonderfully changed and melodious voice. 

“I’ve known the family always. These hands were 
the first hands which touched that little girl when she 
came into the world, and I’ve watched her in sickness 
and in health up till now. Julia’s as sweet as God 
could make her, and that’s about as sweet as a woman 
can get. The old Major’s game, and stiff, and proud 
as the devil, and poor as Lazarus, but he’s a gentle- 
man; a gentleman, sir, who’d pawn his last coat to 
pay a debt and go through the winter in his shirt 
sleeves. I could never get closer than arm’s length to 
the Major, but Julia — ” His voice stopped, and 
Glenning, stealing a glance at his face, saw that his 
lips were tight and he was slowly shaking his head. 
“She’s a wonderful girl,” he resumed, presently, while 
his hands glided deftly about here and there. “She 
came to me once when nobody else would have done 
in her place, when my greatest sorrow was on me, and 


54 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


I won’t forget it — I wonH forget it — I’ll tell it to God 
Almighty when we stand before Him together !” 

Glenning had no words in which to answer this 
unusual discourse. He remained silent, and presently 
the doctor stepped aside. 

“I swear you seem fit as a fiddle !” he avowed, in his 
old peremptory tones. “You must be a tough nut. 
How do you feel.^ Any internal pains 

His patient drew a long breath, and a grimace 
which he could not check in time shot over his face. 

“Don’t lie to me, you young rascal! Where does 
it hurt.?” 

“Inside; here.” 

The speaker placed his hand on his right lung. 

“It ought to hurt there, for you’ve a bruise as big 
as a soup plate. Nothing dangerous, but you must 
be careful. Stay in this room for two days, anyway, 
and lie down most of the time. Do you promise.?” 

“I suppose I’ll have to,” replied Glenning, some- 
what ruefully. 

Doctor Kale thumped over to his hat and medicine 
case. Jamming the hat on his head till it almost 
rested on his ears, he grabbed his case, then swung 
around and gazed keenly at the new doctor. 

“Are you married.?” he demanded, abruptly, and 
in a manner which in anyone else would have been 
highly impertinent. 

“No,” was the answer, given quite gravely. 

A meaningless snort greeted this inoffensive mono- 
syllable. Then Doctor Kale began to parade the 
room, thumping and storming. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


55 


“Why in hell ain’t you ? A doctor ought to be mar- 
ried — adds to his respectability. And here you come 
sneakin’ into Macon not married!” 

He stopped about three feet in front of the figure 
in the chair. 

“I may be a rascal, as some people say, but I’m no 
fool. You’re not married, and you went into a fiery 
furnace to save Julia Dudley’s horse. Now I’ve got 
this to say. The man who gets her has me to reckon 
with as well as the old Major. Damned if he don’t 
have to prove himself, and be as clean as a white- 
washed wall ! Good morning, sir !” 

He stamped to the door, went out, slammed it furi- 
ously behind him, and was gone. 


CHAPTER IV 


The predominant feeling in Glenning’s breast when 
Doctor Kale left him was one of resentment. The old 
fellow had presumed far beyond his rights, had gone 
into the future in an entirely unwarrantable way, and 
had given advice for which there was no thanks in the 
young man’s heart. His resentment was heightened 
by the fact that Julia Dudley’s face had been haunt- 
ing him all morning. Certainly he did not love her. 
He had never exchanged a word w ith her ; he had only 
seen her once, a vision of white beauty with brown, 
braided hair, standing like a Niobe in that night of 
stress and peril. He had never been of a susceptible 
temperament. He had work to do in the world, and 
love must wait. That had been his motto of renun- 
ciation, for he had a deep, strong, tender heart, 
charged with that priceless heritage God gives to each 
of his children. But when the girl with the braided 
hair had stepped forward in the presence of half the 
town and had singled him out for her cavalier in the 
adventure of that hour, he had felt a strange and un- 
accountable thrill pass through him. Her presence 
had been with him in the burning, blinding heat of his 
subsequent struggle, and the knowledge that she was 
waiting without for him to appear again a victor had 
nerved his arm and his smoke-numbed brain to success. 
He did not try to hide these facts from himself, but 


[ 66 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


57 


it was galling to think that a meddlesome old busy- 
body had also found them out, and had flung them 
in his face, coupled with a warning. 

He shook himself together and took another view. 
He must not be supersensitive. The old man had been 
good to him. He had ministered to him and nursed 
him when he, himself, was worn and tired. And Dil- 
lard had said he was peculiar. But Glenning had seen 
the deeper, truer side to Doctor Kale for a few mo- 
ments, and he knew that whatever nature he presented 
exteriorly, down in his heart he was a man. That per- 
sonal experience of which he spoke evasively probably 
referred to the death of his wife. Anyhow it was 
something very vital; something of serious import, 
and John saw now that it had been shrewdly given him 
to assist him in formulating a proper attitude towards 
Miss Dudley. Old Doctor Kale loved her. Of course 
it was a paternal, protecting love, but it was deep 
as the nethermost sea, and as true as heaven. And 
old Doctor Kale knew that as sure as grass grew, and 
water ran down hill, a man and a maid will love. 

Slowly through these engrossing reflections a sound 
crept to Glenning’s brain. He had been conscious of 
it for several moments in an indifferent way, but all 
at once it assumed the tones of a conversation. He 
inclined his head in the direction from whence the 
sound came, and caught a name which made him 
start. He got up, alert, calm, quiet, and moved 
swiftly towards the cheap oak dresser. He now ob- 
served for the first time that this sat in front of a 

/ 

door connecting with another room, and it was from 


58 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


that room the voices came. There was no transom, 
but by moving the dresser slightly he would have 
access to the keyhole. This would have to be accom- 
plished without noise. He listened. The voices had 
sunk to a murmur. There was no choice, and in- 
stantly his long, sinewy fingers gripped the top of the 
dresser on either side. Oh, how it hurt when he put 
forth his strength ! But he lifted it, swerved it a few 
inches, and set it down without a sound. The exertion 
had racked his body with acutest pain, but he smiled 
grimly as he thought of what his recent caller would 
have said and done could he have seen him, then 
squatted before the keyhole and softly put his ear to 
the tiny aperture. In an instant his face grew grave. 

. “Tonight, Travers; it must be tonight,” a husky, 
coarse voice was whispering ; “it’s got to be done !” 

“And you want me to do it.^^” came the answering 
whisper, in a nervous, excited manner. 

“Yes. There’s nothing in the State that can beat 
my Thunderer, Daystar and Imperial Don except 
that long-legged devil-colt. You want to retire from 
business. You can do it after this summer’s racing 
with the tips I’ll give you i/ you^ll hill Dudley's colt 
tonight!" 

“I can’t ! I can’t !” was the moaning reply. “I’m 
not too good ; I’m afraid !” 

“Afraid of what?” a sneering voice returned. “Of 
the dark, two old niggers, an old man and a girl? 
You’re not game a bit !” 

“Let me think ... let me think ! How much 
can I make?” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


59 


“Ten thousand, easy. See here, it can be done in 
a minute. We’ve tried poison and fire, but there’s no 
escape from a pistol bullet, unless that lank fool who 
last night went where I tried to go chooses to stand 
in the way — and I shouldn’t care if he did.” 

“Where will the horse be.?^ — the stable’s burned 
flat.” 

“I’ll find that out today and let you know soon 
after dark. But you’d better not do it till along 
towards three in the morning. Everybody will be 
asleep then.” 

“But if they should catch me, Marston? I’m sup- 
posed to be respectable!” 

“Damn you for a rank coward !” was the explosive 
rejoinder, spoken aloud. “I know a fellow who’ll do 
it for a ten-dollar bill I” 

The heavy tramping of feet followed this harsh 
speech, as though the man who had spoken was leav- 
ing the room. 

Hold on, Marston!” the nervous voice protested, 
eagerly. “Come back a minute! And don’t talk so 
loud. That new doctor’s on this floor somewhere. I 
was asleep when they brought him in half dead last 
night, and the night clerk, Jones, put him on this floor 
somewhere. Be patient. A man can’t risk his life 
and reputation without thinking about it. Sit down 
just a minute and let me think.” 

Some unintelligible grumbling was the only reply 
Glenning could hear, but he judged from the silence 
which followed that both men were still there. He 
took advantage of this lull in the conversation to put 


60 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


his eye to the keyhole. A compactly built, brutish 
looking man was in his line of vision, sprawled in a 
chair directly facing him. Glenning would have rec- 
ognized anywhere the one who had vainly tried to 
enter The Prince’s stall. He was an evil appearing 
man. His shoulders were very broad, and his neck 
was so thick and short that his round head seemed 
to spring from his body. He was flashily dressed, 
with knee length riding boots of russet leather. His 
face was sensual and cruel; his straight black hair 
grew low upon his forehead. His eyes were small and 
set close to his nose, and his upper teeth habitually 
showed, like a wolf’s. A heavy scowl sat upon his 
features from his present ill humour. The watcher 
at the keyhole felt a great wave of repulsion surge 
over him as he beheld this being in the shape of man, 
and unconsciously his heart hardened. Nothing was 
visible of the second occupant of the room except the 
toe of one shoe, which kept up an incessant tattoo on 
the worn carpet. Two minutes passed, and Glenning 
noted that the figure fronting him was growing rest- 
less. The frown on his low forehead deepened into 
threatening furrows and he began to strike his boots 
with the whip he carried. Suddenly he sat upright. 

‘‘Out with it, man !” he hissed. “Don’t dally here 
till the morning’s gone! Are you going to do it or 
not.?” 

The tattoo ceased, and the foot was withdrawn 
from view. Then its owner came within the radius 
of the little circle formed by the keyhole. He walked 
straight to the burly figure in the chair, and bent 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


61 


down to whisper his decision. The man on watch 
could only see his back. He was a low, thin person, 
wearing a brown checked suit. Glenning swiftly put 
his ear to the little opening, and listened with the 
greatest intensity. It was of the utmost importance 
that he should hear the outcome of the plot. But only 
elusive murmurs reached him, and not a word could 
he hear. Observation was his second chance ; the only 
one left. Again he brought his eye to bear. Both 
men were standing now, close together. They had 
come to a satisfactory understanding, for the heavy 
man’s face had lightened, and he had one hand laid in 
a confiding way upon the shoulder of his confederate. 
Then they passed from the room, whispering as they 
went. 

Glenning got onto his feet, found a chair, and sat 
down. Of one thing only was he sure — ^there was work 
before him. The rest was dark, but plain ahead lay 
his duty. The Dudleys must know of all that had 
passed in the next room. The one called Marston 
had spoken of poison and of fire. Then the burning 
of the stable had been the work of an incendiary. He 
was exerting every malign effort to get rid of Dudley’s 
horse. The third trial was to occur that night. John 
got up and looked at his watch. It was after eleven. 
Major Dudley had said in his note that he would call 
in the afternoon. But he might not come till late, and 
something might happen whereby he could not come 
at all. The matter was most urgent and vital, admit- 
ting of no delay whatever. He knew no one who could 
act as a messenger on an errand of this character. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Dillard had said he would drop in at noon, but he had 
duties of his own. He must go himself. There was 
no other course open. When he had come to this de- 
cision Glenning took a quick inventory of his physical 
condition. The wound over his right lung was his 
most serious hurt. The burns which he had sustained 
were only on the surface, and while they were quite 
painful, they would not prevent his proposed journey. 
Strange to say, his face had scarcely been touched by 
the fire. There was an ugly welt about two inches 
long upon his left cheek, and a scratch or two upon 
his forehead and neck; that was all. His hair was 
badly singed, as he discovered when he endeavored to 
brush it. He made his toilet as carefully as possible, 
finding shaving a task for a stoic, but going through 
with it nevertheless. By twelve he was appareled in a 
neat gray suit and clean linen, and feeling very much 
himself. He went down to the dining-room early, and 
was grateful to be assigned to a table in an obscure 
corner. It was his especial desire right now to be 
unnoticed, and besides he had an innate abhorrence of 
publicity; of being looked at and commented upon, 
even though favorably. 

The boy who had brought his breakfast ap- 
proached in a deferential way for his order, which 
Glenning gave with the request that it be served 
quickly. But before it came he began to realize the 
penalty of greatness. The guests of the hotel com- 
menced to assemble, and every one that entered, male 
or female, big or little, cast their eyes about until 
they found the hero in his corner. And the painful 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


62 


part of it was they did not withdraw their eyes after 
they had found him, but gazed and gazed with truly 
rural interest, in which rudeness really had no place. 
One little girl in brown curls even ventured to point, 
and ask, “Mama, is that him?” before the maternal 
hand could grasp her arm, and the paternal voice 
admonish her in a loud whisper to behave. Still his 
dinner did not come, and he began to grow embar- 
rassed. Finally, in desperation, he drew some old let- 
ters from his pocket and began to re-read them, find- 
ing such employment better suited to his taste than 
staring sillily back at the many pairs of eyes which 
were now beholding him. Directly a small envelope 
slipped from the packet in his hand and fell face up- 
ward on the table. The address was in an unformed 
feminine hand. He did not re-read this letter, but as 
he picked it up and placed it back in his breast pocket 
along with the others a look of dejected weariness 
settled heavily on his face. He forgot all those who 
were watchipg him; forgot the urgent present, as a 
pair of wonderful wine-brown eyes swam before him. 
Dishes jingled at his elbow; his dinner was being 
served. He must eat quickly and go. He must be- 
have well, and let the people look as long as they 
wished, for they were to be his people now, and his 
home was to be among them. In time he was to be the 
family doctor for many of them. 

But the grip of a past such as held him now was not 
the palsied touch of age. It was the strong-handed 
hold of vigorous youth, which tightens the more as we 
make resistance. Glenning shook back the straight 


64 ) 


THE MAN' FROM JERICHO 


black locks which had fallen upon his forehead, and 
the melancholy of his eyes became a shadow of living 
pain. A lassitude was upon him, weighting his spirit, 
leaden-like. He ate perfunctorily, choosing no dish 
above another, taking always the one closest to hand. 
He was not aware of the obsequious attentions of the 
waiter who stood proudly behind his chair, with mouth 
set in a perpetual grin. He did not hear the purring 
questions this worthy asked. Sometimes it was this 
way with him. He had fought a battle from which 
gods would have shrunk, and had come out clean. But 
the price! Sometimes he wondered, in bitterness, if 
it had been worth while, and then later, when quiet 
came, and he felt an awed sweetness stealing upon his 
soul, he was glad. 

By force of will alone he brought his mind back to 
the hour before him. Then, hurriedly making an end 
of his dinner, he went to his room for a light cane, 
found and descended the parlor stairs to avoid the 
office and the loungers there, and started up street. 

The appearance of any stranger in a town the size 
of Macon is always remarked. Little wonder then 
that John Glenning found himself, as it were, on dress 
parade. When he had run the gantlet of one block, 
which happened to be the one upon which most of the 
business houses were located, he turned to the right, 
to allay any suspicions as to his ultimate destination. 
He would make a detour, and come back to main 
street further on. The first corner which he ap- 
proached was occupied by a small, weather-beaten, 
one-story frame house, setting slightly back in a yard 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


65 


poorly kept, wherein a few straggling rose bushes 
strove for existence. Entering the front door of this 
house as he passed was a slightly bent, limping figure. 
He recognized in a moment Doctor Kale, but whether 
this was his residence, or whether he was making a 
call, he could not determine. He w'as quite thankful, 
however, that the old doctor had not seen him, for 
an unpleasant situation would have developed at 
once. He had given his word to remain in his room 
for two days, and he did not feel inclined to share his 
secret with a comparative stranger, even though his 
friendly interest in the Dudleys could not be ques- 
tioned. 

Glenning crossed the street diagonally and resumed 
his eastward course, walking more rapidly. The in- 
creased circulation which his exercise occasioned 
caused him considerable suffering, but he set his jaws, 
and went on. Presently he passed the jail, a stone 
structure, with narrow slits for windows. Pitying 
any unfortunate who might be languishing in the 
gloomy pile this bright June day, he fell to noticing 
the pleasant looking houses which he passed, most of 
them of frame, most of them old, and possessing no 
decided style of architecture, but indicating thrift and 
cleanliness on the part of their occupants. Then he 
had swerved onto the main street once more, which led 
on in an unbroken line almost to Cemetery Hill, be- 
yond which was the Dudley home. He passed very 
few people now, for it was hot at this time of the day, 
and not many were stirring. Then, too, it was the 
dinner hour. He found this walk would have been 


66 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


delightful under ordinary circumstances, for the pave- 
ment was lined with maple trees, which cast a con- 
tinuous shade below. He passed some beautiful homes 
on this part of his walk; residences which showed 
plainly the lavish elegance of ante-bellum prosperity. 
He grew the least bit nervous as he crossed the rail- 
road just this side of Cemetery Hill. It was here the 
pavement ended, and for the remainder of his journey 
he must take the pike. He was not afraid of his wel- 
come ; he knew that would be cordial and genuine, but 
until he should be able to make his errand known it 
would appear somewhat as if he had come to be 
thanked. His sensitive nature revolted at this. He 
really would have preferred to let the incident drop 
without discussion, but he knew that was impossible. 
He was now in view of the fence, the long, iron fence 
bent and twisted in places which bounded a large and 
exceedingly well kept lawn, from which arose in 
stately splendour, irregularly, majestic oaks, maples 
and elms. The lawn sloped gently upward, and on 
its crest was the home, looking very square, solid and 
dignified, with its upper and lower porticos and its 
rows of windows, four above and four below. There 
was no sign of life. Glenning went down the fence, 
watching for a gate. The night before he had had 
no time for minor things, and it was almost as though 
he had never seen the place before. The gate proved 
to be at the other corner of the yard, was double, and 
had a lion’s head cast in the center of the iron arch 
which spanned it. One of the gates yielded to his 
touch and he went in, feeling decidedly like a tres- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


67 


passer. He found himself at the beginning of a 
graveled drive, winding picturesquely through bor- 
ders of evergreens up to the front of the mansion. 
Unconsciously, perhaps, he put his hand to his tie 
to see that it was in place, then bravely set his face 
towards his goal. 

As he drew closer he discovered that the house was 
pretentious, and that the disposition and care of 
everything outdoors was peculiarly correct. He did 
not tarry as his feet brought him near the end of the 
drive, but walked with a firm tread upon the portico, 
removed his hat, and knocked briskly upon a panel 
of one of the heavy doors, both of which were open 
wide. Accompanying his knock, rather than follow- 
ing it, came the sound of the swishing of dainty 
drapery overhead; a sound which instantly became 
more audible, and mingled with it was the musical 
hum of a lilting tune. Glenning glanced up, his heart 
behaving somewhat oddly, for his position was a trifle 
nervous, and beheld, around the further bend of the 
old stairway, where it gave upon the broad landing, 
a flutter of garments. He knew at once who it was, 
and he knew she had not heard his summons at the 
door, for she was humming industriously, and evi- 
dently had just started to descend the stair. Across 
the landing she floated, to the top of the downward 
flight, and at that point she lifted her eyes and beheld 
the tall young stranger standing in the middle of the 
open doorway. The humming stopped abruptly, and 
so did Julia. She did not recognize him at that dis- 
tance, for the brighter light was at his back, and his 


68 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


clothing was entirely different from what it had been 
the night before. Knowing it to be a stranger, and 
presuming he had called to see her father, she came 
very demurely and very slowly down the stair, one 
hand sliding gently along the mahogany rail. Glen- 
ning waited in respectful silence until she should come 
nearer. She had dropped her eyes, but as her feet 
reached the floor she lifted them in an interrogative 
glance, and then she saw — the singed and burned 
hair, the disfiguring welt upon his cheek, one or two 
pieces of court plaster which he had tried to remove 
and failed. The change which transformed this quite 
correct and polite young lady was electric in its 
rapidity. Her hands clasped and flew up under her 
chin, and there came a look upon her sweet face such 
as the man had never seen in his life before. There 
was gratitude, compassion, and a lingering, uncon- 
scious tenderness, and eloquent, if wordless emotion 
beamed in her broTO eyes. For a moment each was 
speechless. Then Julia came forward with outheld 
hand. 

“O, you are he!” she exclaimed, and the blood 
rushed up to her face, overflowing its delicate beauty 
with rich tints. “You saved our Prince 1” 

The touch of the small, cool hand in his affected 
Glenning strangely. It brought recollection — ^which 
was bitter — and it made this girl’s presence very 
real — which was sweet. 

She spoke again almost at once, in a somewhat 
calmer voice, though it was plain to see her feelings 
had not abated. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


69 


“My father and I are in your lasting debt. Come 
into the library. He will want to see j^ou. He was 
going into town for that purpose later in the after- 
noon. Peter told us he delivered father’s letter 
safely.” 

As she was speaking she led the way into the room 
on the right. Glenning followed, and both sat down. 

“I — might have waited for him to come,” said John, 
“but — I thought something might detain him, and 
an incident has arisen which makes it necessary that 
I see him at once. Otherwise I would not have forced 
myself upon you so soon after — last night.” 

“I am glad you have come, Mr. — Doctor — ” 

“Glenning, Miss Dudley.” 

“Doctor Glenning, for I want to speak my thanks 
with father’s. I do not know whether I should apolo- 
gize or not for appealing to you last night, for I had 
never seen you until that moment. But I was wild 
with grief at the thought of my Prince burning to 
death before my eyes, and when the rest gave back 
cowardly, and left you alone, it was borne in upon 
me that you would do it — that you could do it, and 
were not afraid. Now, when I am calm and sane, I 
see that I was presuming enormously — almost in- 
humanly, upon your manhood, for I had no right in 
the world to speak to you as I did, and I believe I am 
ashamed of it today, and think I should ask your 
pardon.” 

Her words followed each other swiftly, as though 
the speech was one which she wished to say quickly, 
before her determination to speak it wavered. The 


70 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


flush which had come to her face at the door had 
never receded, and still enveloped her features charm- 
ingly, as she sat with bent head in the cool semi- 
gloom of the old library. 

Glenning looked on her a moment keenly before he 
replied. The picture she made might have stirred 
an}' man’s heart. He knew she was sincere ; that suf- 
ficed for the time. 

“Don’t speak of apologies,” he answered, in a voice 
which had grown deeper and more vibrant. “You do 
not owe me any. I have read of days when men 
counted it a favor to serve a lady, be she friend or 
stranger. Let us not think those days are entirely 
gone — that they are as dead as the people who lived 
in them. Candidly, and without simulation, I was 
glad to do what I did for you — gladder still that you 
felt you might call upon me. That means more than 
all else, perhaps. And it was not all a duty, believe 
me ; it was a pleasure.” 

A smile trembled upon her lips as she raised her 
head and looked squarely at him. 

“And these,” she said, “upon your cheek, and neck, 
and forehead. Your hands, blackened and burned” — 
her voice quivered — “your lungs perhaps scorched — 
what of these 

He laughed gently. 

“Let us say my body has been purged of some of 
its sins by fire, and let us call the marks badges of 
honor. They will not deface, and I shall never be 
sorry for them.” 

There was a peculiar earnestness to his tones she 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


71 


could not fathom. None of the young men in Macon 
would have made a speech like that. None of them 
could have understood such sentiments. She under- 
stood them but vaguely herself, yet they appeared 
very noble. As he spoke, she knew that she was 
noticing for the first time the square lines of his angu- 
lar face, and the half melancholy, half humorous ex- 
pression of his eyes. 

“You take serious things quite lightly,” she con- 
tended, “but it is difficult to answer you. You are 
striving not to permit your heroism to be recognized, 
but we know better, father and I, and you must not 
speak deprecatingly of it before us. It will hurt us. 
Shall I go for father.'^” She arose quietly and stood 
before him. “Peter is arranging new quarters for 
the Prince, and father is superintending the work.” 

“Yes, if it is convenient for him to come now. I 
don’t think I need delay him long. You, too, had 
better be present, for you will be interested in my 
message.” 

“Very well. Wait just a moment.” 

She disappeared in the hall with light footsteps, 
and Glenning, with his eyes set intently upon the 
worn Brussels carpet in front of him, awaited her 
return. 


CHAPTER V. 


The presence of a peculiarly sweet perfume, 
brought to his nostrils by a light zephyr floating 
through the open window near, caused him to look up. 
He could see through the casement an old and shabby 
honeysuckle, and it was from this the odour came, so 
elusive as to make him doubt its reality. He won- 
dered why so unsightly a shrub as this had grown to 
be was allowed a place in the purlieus of the imma- 
culate lawn, then his eyes came indoors. The room 
in which he sat was large. An old fireplace was on 
one side, but this was hidden by a screen. Above it 
was a tall mantel, with some chaste bric-a-brac, and 
above this the picture of a man of unusually fine ap- 
pearance. A young man, whose every feature bespoke 
courage and determination. The remainder of the 
wall space was pretty much given up to book cases of 
various sizes and designs, and all crammed with books. 
A center-post mahogany table stood in the middle of 
the room, and this also was heavily sprinkled with 
books and papers, and a few magazines. Being a 
man, Glenning did not know that the threads in the 
carpet under his feet showed, nor that the haircloth 
with which the chairs were upholstered was worn into 
holes in man}’^ places. But he pricked his ears at once 
when he heard quick footsteps on the long side porch. 


[ 72 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


76 


and the sound of more deliberate and hea^'ier steps 
coming with them. He was on his feet when Major 
Dudley and Julia came into the library arm in arm. 
A smile of genuine welcome was on the aristocratic 
features of the master of the place, and he came for- 
ward with more celerity than he was wont to show, 
clasping Glenning’s hand in a grip which almost made 
the young fellow wince. 

“You’re none too soon, suh ; none too soon !” he 
exclaimed, beaming warmest appreciation into the 
eyes of his caller. “Sit down, suh, sit down, while I 
apologize for not coming to inquire after you this 
morning, instead of waiting for this afternoon. You 
must have a constitution of adamant,” he added, as 
the three took chairs. 

“It is pretty tough,” admitted Glenning. “I’m 
almost myself today. Still I would not have ventured 
to impose myself upon you this morning had it not 
chanced I heard something which you will be glad to 
know — or, at least, which you should know, for it is 
not pleasant news.” 

“One moment, suh.” Then to his daughter, in a 
tone of greatest respect — “Julia, bid Peter mix two 
juleps and serve them here at once. * * ♦ Now, 

doctor, what were you going to say.^” 

“I shall wait for Miss Dudley’s return, with your 
permission. That which I have to say concerns you 
both equally. This is a lovely old home, if you will 
pardon the comment.” 

Major Dudley took a book from the table by which 
he sat. Certainly not with the intention of reading. 


74 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


but it was a life-long habit, and if he happened to be 
in arm’s length of a book he never failed to pick it up. 

“It’s a family possession, suh. The wah’s done 
away with most of them hereabout, but we were for- 
tunate in not being pillaged and burned, like many of 
our neighbors. Then a number were sold for debt, 
and passed into vandal hands. But before we pro- 
ceed fu’ther, suh, you must let me confess my obli- 
gation — ” 

Glenning held up a restraining hand. 

“Miss Dudley has done that,” he said, “and you 
would please me most by not referring again to last 
night’s adventure. I was lucky enough to get the 
horse out, and lucky enough to get out myself. I 
know all the thanks which you would utter, and I 
accept them. Now let’s close the incident and come 
down to the needs of the moment, for, believe me, they 
are pressing.” 

The Major gazed in sheer amazement at the man, 
and before he could find his voice Julia returned, 
glided like a sunbeam to her chair and sat down, fold- 
ing her hands in her lap. 

“Peter will be here in a moment,” she said, softly. 

Glenning resumed talking immediately, and laid 
bare to the smallest detail the plot which he had 
heard an hour or two before. The girl’s face paled in 
evident distress as the recital proceeded, while Major 
Dudley sat like an image of stone, his gray eyes fixed 
unwaveringly on the speaker. 

“That is all,” concluded John, “and I have come 
straight to you, for forewarned is forearmed. I 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


75 


judge the attack will be made between two and three 
in the morning.” 

When he ceased there was dead silence for perhaps 
a minute. Finally one word broke from the Major’s 
lips — “Marston!” His eyes fell to the floor for an 
instant, then he lifted his head as a stag might when 
brought to bay. 

“He is the enemy of our house, suh, and he has 
harassed me vilely! If I were a younger man, I’d 
dare him to do his worst.” Then a troubled and per- 
plexed expression came over his face, and he turned 
to his daughter. “Little girl, this is men’s work. Had 
you not better leave us 

Julia got up, went to him, and placed one hand 
upon his forehead and the other around his neck. 

“The time has come when I must share your bur- 
dens, daddy,” she said. Her face was burning, but 
her voice was very tender and brave. “Let’s talk it 
over together — Doctor Glenning, you and I. Is not 
that best.^” 

She turned her gaze on the young man by the win- 
dow as she put the question. 

“Decidedly !” he answered promptly, and with 
vigour. “I am convinced that an exceedingly base 
man is attempting you cowardly violence, and if you 
will permit me I shall gladly take part in your coun- 
cil. The first thought which presents itself is — ^\\'hy 
not denounce him and place him under arrest.?” 

The old man shook his head, and smiled sadly, 

“Had you not just arrived in our town you would 
realize that to be impossible. He is very powerful. 


76 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


very rich, and has men at his mercy who are high in 
civic and municipal affairs. Your testimony — or 
mine — would be laughed at. We cannot touch him.” 

Glenning’s face darkened, and his lips pressed to- 
gether to a thin, straight line. 

“Then it’s Greek meet Greek,” he said, in a low, 
hard voice, and Julia, watching him, felt something 
akin to awe well up in her breast. Somehow he 
seemed so masterful, so calm, so purposeful, and she 
had been a witness of his ability to do things. 

“Travers is to be his agent this time .^” 

It was the Major’s voice, worry-laden. 

“Yes, that’s the name.” 

“He runs the hotel on a lease. Marston owns it. 
He’s tired of working, and wants to buy his way to 
independence over the body of the Prince. Let him 
come ! I am old to shed man’s blood, but I will pro- 
tect my property !” 

“Daddy, you can’t sit up all night,” remonstrated 
Julia, trying to smooth the wrinkles from his fore- 
head, “and you would be no match for an able bodied 
person bent on mischief. Isn’t the smoke-house 
strong enough to keep out whoever comes?” 

A throat was cleared in the hall doorway in an 
apologetic manner. The Major was too preoccupied 
to hear it. 

“Here’s Peter,” said Julia, soothingly, without 
looking up. 

“Ah! I’d forgotten. Let me ask you to have a 
julep with me. Doctor Glenning. * * * Peter, 

pass the tray to the gentleman.” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


77 


The retainer of the Dudley household shambled 
forward, bearing a tray upon which sat two glasses, 
each containing a well-mixed mint julep. It may as 
well be stated here that the quality of a mint julep 
depends largely upon the manner in which it is pre- 
pared, and Peter had been doing this sort of thing 
three times a day for more years than he had fingers 
and toes. This formal courtesy having been duly 
observed, Peter withdrew at once, and the question of 
the moment again commanded attention. 

“There’s nothing, my daughter,” said Major Dud- 
ley, reverting to Julia’s question, “there’s nothing 
can positively thwart a villain except steel or lead. 
This man has hounded me until I’m desperate !” 

“I agree with Miss Dudley,” said Glenning, speak- 
ing carefully, “that it would not do for you to attempt 
to cope with this midnight assassin. A personal en- 
counter is not at all improbable, and in that event you 
would inevitably suffer bodily harm, and perhaps 
death, for the man who would undertake such a piece 
of work as this would not hesitate to take human life.” 

While he was speaking Julia left her father’s side 
and went back to the chair she had formerly occupied. 

“Is there any one about the place upon whom you 
could rely.^” John queried. 

“We are alone with the exception of Peter and 
Aunt Frances. They would sacrifice themselves for 
us, but their aid would be out of the question upon 
an occasion like this.” 

A sudden gloom seemed to envelope the Major as 
he spoke. 


78 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“There’s no one,” he added, in a lifeless tone. 

“But in town ?” persisted the calm, even voice. “Is 
there no one — no young person who is not afraid that 
you could call to your assistance.^” 

The old man’s head moved slowly in sign of 
negation. 

“We live almost absolutely to ourselves, and 
alone,” explained Julia. “It has been the family trait 
for generations. I have sometimes thought it a grave 
fault thus to seclude ourselves from the world, and 
live apart from our neighbors. It is a species of self- 
ishness, but we have always found it very sweet. But 
living thus we must, you see, be sufficient unto our- 
selves at all times and under all circumstances. We 
have no moral nor civil right to make any demands, 
or ask any favours. We have chosen our lot, and we 
must abide by it, whatever comes. Until now — until 
this hour we have never regretted this, but — ” 

“But at the proper time Fate takes a hand in every 
game.” 

Glenning smiled as he finished the sentence in his 
own way. 

“What do you mean.^” asked the girl, a quick sus- 
picion of what was in his mind causing her brown 
eyes to dilate and her lips to part the least bit in 
anticipation. 

His words had an effect on the Major also. He 
straightened up, while hope sprang to his eyes. 
Glenning braced his feet on the floor and grasped the 
arms of his chair firmly before he answered. When 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


79 


he spoke his words came clear and sharp from between 
his teeth. 

“I mean what I say.” He held Julia Dudley’s 
eyes with his own, without wavering an instant, as he 
went rapidly on. “Fate has taken a hand, and I am 
her instrument. This is no time for false attitudes, 
hypocrisy, or make-believes. There come times in all 
lives when superficiality has to be shorn away, when 
we must look upon things as they really are and cast 
aside all pretence and the nice fabric which cloaks our 
everyday actions and affairs. It is in such times we 
find our real selves, and the pity of it is they are 
usually compelled by some distressing situation, some 
condition which of itself strips off all sham and leaves 
our true natures bare. A little more than twelve 
hours ago I did not know that either of you were in 
the land of the living. Chance, if we chose to call it 
that, brought me in your way, and I did you a service. 
Simple justice to a fellow being against whose worldly 
goods I overheard a vile conspiracy brought me to 
your home today. With what result? You are 
totally unprepared and unable to meet this crisis 
alone and unaided. There is no one upon whom to 
call in this emergency. I am young, strong, and 
unafraid. I shall watch The Prince tonight !” 

Julia put her palms over her face for the briefest 
moment, and when she took them down her eyes were 
shining adorably. 

“Oh !” she exclaimed. “We cannot accept that !” 

A faint shadow of annoyance flashed over Glen- 


80 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


ning’s countenance. He feared that she had not 
understood fully, but in the swift moment which fol- 
lowed he knew that he was wrong, and that she did 
understand. She was aware that his motive was noble 
and impersonal, for the knowledge was written on her 
face. The caller turned to Major Dudley. 

“Will you accept my offer, sir.? It is made simply 
as man to man; as two strangers might meet in the 
desert, one unarmed and threatened by a wild beast, 
the other armed, and ready and willing to do what he 
can. That is the situation, and it is very simple. I 
see no need to delay, or hesitate. It is an extremely 
plain proposition. What do you say, sir 

The Major was grave, upright and dignified as he 
answered in his measured tones: 

“This is the fust time in my life that I have asked 
or received aid from any man. But I find myself in 
a sore strait, from which, as far as I can see, there is 
only one escape. The Prince is almost as deah to me 
as a child. Doctor Glenning. He is the last of a strain 
of race bosses which have made Kentucky famous all 
over the United States, and I confess to you that his 
swiftness has never been equalled by any of his fore- 
bears. To save myself, personally, I would tell you 
no. To save Julia and the colt, I say yes. It looks 
base, it looks brazen, it looks coarse and common, but 
I trust, suh, you realize fully the peculiar position in 
which you find me, and from which it seems that no one 
but you can extricate me. * * * My daughter, 

we accept Doctor Glenning’s magnanimous offer pro- 
visionally.” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


81 


Julia merely bowed her head and remained silent. 
Her face had grown whiter and her eyes almost 
solemn. 

“What restrictions do you wish to place upon me?” 
asked Glenning. 

“Simply this. That you do not go on duty till 
midnight. There is absolutely no danger before that 
time, and Peter and I will share the watch. Again, 
you must promise to remain in shelter when you begin 
your vigil. The Prince’s new quarters will be the 
smoke-house. Peter is there now doing what’s neces- 
sary. It’s a stanch structure, solid as a block-house 
of pioneer days, and will withstand an assault. You 
must also agree not to fire upon anyone unless it 
should become necessary. I have no desire that any 
of these people should die. If compelled to shoot, 
shoot low, and let your aim be to cripple. These are 
my provisions, and I shall not swerve from them an 
inch.” 

The man by the window hesitated a moment only. 

“All right,” he said. “I agree, since I must, but I 
had rather go into this business unhampered.” He 
smiled boyishly, and turned to Julia. “We’ve over- 
ridden you. Miss Dudley. I hope you, also, will now 
agree to this little plan ?” 

“Ye-e-s, if father thinks it right I mustn’t be con- 
trary. But you are unfit for such a thing just now, 
and it seems brutally cruel and unfeeling after what 
you did last night.” 

Glenning waved his hand deprecatingly. 

“We’ve forgotten that, you know, and agreed to 


82 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


let it alone. See that you don’t trespass again. To- 
night will be a lark, nothing else. Do you think I 
could be possibly frightened by that funny looking 
little hotel keeper.?” 

“Travers is an arrant coward, as well as a knave,” 
broke in the Major, “but if Marston has any reason 
to doubt his project will miscarry, he may come, too. 
Then it’s time to keep your eyes open, for he’ll stop 
at nothing. I’m glad you have consented to my pro- 
visions, doctor, and now I’ve something else to say. 
I invite you to spend the afternoon with us, and take 
tea. Then you can return to town at twilight and 
retire early, in order to get some rest.” 

Involuntarily Glenning’s eyes went around to where 
the young mistress of the old home sat. 

“Let me repeat father’s invitation,” she said. “We 
shall be glad to have you stay. It will be pleasant 
for us, and will give you an opportunity to lay your 
plan of action for tonight. It will also save you an 
extra trip, if you have no other business on hand for 
the afternoon.” 

Glenning bowed. 

“Nothing whatever. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the 
next day, I will establish an office down town, and 
incidentally desert the Union House. I have no desire 
whatever to remain the guest of our friend, Mr. 
Travers. He might put arsenic in my soup, or 
strychnine in my bread. But for the rest of this day 
I’m free, and I am delighted with your invitation, 
which I accept with pleasure.” 

Julia arose and went to the Major’s side again. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


83 


“This is the hour for father’s siesta,” she said. 
“He has been accustomed to taking a nap this time 
of day ever since I can remember, and I know he espe- 
cially needs it now.” She bent down and whispered 
in the old gentleman’s ear, but Glenning caught the 
words. “Lie down and rest now, daddy dear. I’ll 
take care of our guest until you wake. And don’t 
worry. Everything will come out all right.” 

Major Dudley arose a little unsteadily. His pres- 
ent trouble, crowding the heels of last night’s occur- 
rence, had told on him. His face was careworn, and 
there was the suggestion of a stoop in his shoulders. 
John had likewise risen. 

“If you will pardon me, suh,” spoke the Major, 
“I’ll lie down a while now. A lazy custom of mine 
for which there really is no excuse. But habit is 
strong, and grows stronger the more we humour it. 
I will be up and out in the course of an hour. My 
daughter will enifcrtain you, suh.” 

He bowed in formal, old-fashioned courtesy, and 
made his way to a long, deep davenport across the 
room which Glenning had hitherto failed to notice. 

The caller now followed Julia into the hall. 

“It seems impossible for us to treat you as a 
stranger in any way,” she said, in a low, musical 
voice, “or to make company of you. Shall we sit on 
the portico, or would you rather go out on the lawn ? 
We can take chairs out, if you prefer.” 

“Am I to speak with perfect freedom? I believe 
that is the best and truest basis for friendship, and 
I hope we may grow to be friends.” 


84 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


The partly alarmed glance which she darted at him 
showed only the habitual expression, half-smiling, 
half-grave, wholly genuine. 

“The truth, always, and straight from the shoul- 
der,” she answered. “Deliver me from men or women 
who are constantly beating about the bush and per- 
petually feeling their way.” 

“Bravo!” he exclaimed, softly, and laughed — a 
chest laugh which thrilled her. “If everyone fol- 
lowed that maxim we would always know where our 
neighbours stood. Then this is the thing I wish now — 
to go have a look at The Prince’s new stable. It had 
best be done by daylight, and — ” 

“Why, certainly.” 

She took a sunbonnet from the hat- rack near by, 
and turned to the long side porch back of the hall. 

“Come with me. It is not very far away.” 

They passed the length of the porch side by side, 
silently. Some steps brought them to the ground, 
and as Glenning cast his eyes about he saw a portly 
figure in blue calico and bandana swathed head dis- 
appearing up another short flight of steps at the other 
end of the house. 

“That’s Aunt Frances,” explained Julia, smiling 
at the precipitate manner in which the old negress 
had sought the shelter of her kitchen. “She is very 
shy for one of her age, and she is especially ‘jubus’ 
of young men. I don’t know why, for I’m sure they 
are not near so critical as the young women. But she 
is faithful, and wonderfully watchful of me. I love 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


85 


her devotedly. Yonder is her consort, Peter, hard at 
work.” 

The smoke-house was not over fifty yards from the 
mansion, and was reached along a walk of huge flat 
stones. The way to all the out-buildings was paved 
in this manner. Peter was evidently hung on the 
horns of a dilemma as the two young people came up. 
He removed his tattered hat deferentially, greeted 
them with two profound salaams, and plunged into a 
recital of his woes, using the saw he held in one hand 
by way of emphasis and illustration. 

“De stable hit bu’n, ’n’ de Prince got to hab a 
home. Massa ’low de smoke-house wuz de only t’ing 
lef’ fittin’, ’n’ hyar I been all day tryin’ to wuk out 
de riddle. Ear’s de do’, ’n’ dar’s de Prince, hitched 
to dat freestone peach tree, ’n’ de question whut’s 
’plexin’ my mind is, how I gwi’ git ’im thu dat do’ !” 

He ceased with his head on one side, and rheumy 
eyes which glared defiantly at the young man fronting 
him. 

“What have you been doing with your saw.?” asked 
Glenning, amused, but holding his face decorously 
straight. 

“Cut a winder on de yon’ side o’ de house. Hit tuk 
me twel dinner-time. Now comes dis pesky do’, whut 
de Prince won’ fit. Ef he had ’nough gumption to 
stoop, he could go in, but he’s dat proud he won’ bend 
a bit. ’N’ he got to git in hyar ’fo’ dahk, sho’.” 

“Let me take a look. Maybe I can offer you a sug- 
gestion.” 


86 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


John passed through the low door. He found him- 
self in a tall, dark room, odourous of cured meats and 
burned hickory fagots. It was scantily lighted by a 
square window of diminutive size, for in making the 
opening Peter had been careful not to get it large 
enough to admit the body of a man. But Glenning 
thought it was just the right size to admit two arms, 
one holding a bull’s eye lantern and the other a re- 
volver. By the aid of the light which streamed 
through the open door he could discern dimly the rows 
of blackened rafters overhead, from which broken 
bits of hempen strings hung desolately. There was 
not an ounce of meat in the smoke-house, and the man 
could not help wondering the least bit at this. Could 
they really be poor! He remembered what Dillard 
had said to him — “They are in no position to enter- 
tain a well guest, let alone a sick one.” His heart 
sank strangely at the thought, and pity filled his 
breast. He turned swiftly, and went out the door. 

“Peter’s trouble is not as grave as it might be,” 
he said, smiling at Julia as she stood patiently listen- 
ing to the darky’s discourse. “There are two reme- 
dies ; to cut up, or dig down. The floor, I notice, is 
perhaps six inches lower than the ground, or we could 
saw out the log above the lintel. Either is entirely 
practicable, and not difficult. Which would you pre- 
fer, Miss Dudley.?” 

Julia did not know, as the perplexed look on her 
face showed, but Peter did. He broke in before she 
had time to formulate a reply. 

“We’ll dig dat do’step up. I’ve heerd de Massa 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


87 


say afo’time dat de rain’d run under dat do’, ’n’ dat 
he gwi’ hab it ’tended to ’kase it spile de meat. 
’Bleeged to yo’, suh. I’ll git de pick ’n’ shev’l ’n’ fix 
dat d’reckly.” 

He departed with his peculiar gait. 

“Come and look at The Prince, and see if he knows 
you,” said Julia. “Peter hasn’t let him get out of 
sight today.” 

Together they approached the young animal which 
stood tethered under the shade of a small peach tree 
to one side. 

“It’s wonderful how little he was hurt,” resumed 
Julia, and she could not restrain the emotion in her 
voice. “See, this is the worst.” 

She pointed to a spot just above the lean flank, 
where a long, deep burn marred the satin-like skin. 

“A piece of falling timber did that,” said Glenning. 
“I saw it.” 

He walked slowly around The Prince, and he, who 
had known horses from his childhood, marveled much 
at the absolute faultlessness of this young colt. He 
was modeled for speed, and speed alone, from the 
tips of his veined ears to his small, polished hoofs. 
There was not a line at fault, and, unbidden, a great 
wave of enthusiasm swept the man. 

“You will race him this summer he queried. 

“Yes, if he lives till then,” she answered, with some 
sadness. 

“Don’t fear but he will live. I pledge you my word 
he shall be on the track when the day comes.” 

Julia looked at him with moist eyes. 


88 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“You are wondrous kind.” Then, with a sudden 
brightening — “The Prince is fast. Oh, you don’t 
know ! He really runs like the wind ; so rapidly that 
it almost frightens you. But this is a secret, you 
know. Still it has gotten abroad, somehow, and that’s 
why the stable burned, for there are those not far 
away who also own fast horses, and it would almost 
kill them to have our Prince victorious.” 

A scowl darkened the face of the tall, spare man 
in front of her. 

“I can scarcely believe such dastardly cowards are 
alive. But don’t fear them. They shall not harm 
your horse, and after this night I think their designs 
upon his life will cease.” 

“O I fear the night!” she cried. “But remember 
your promise to father. I wish it was all over, and 
morning was here again I” 

His deep, soft chest laugh reassured her. 

“This will be child’s play. Miss Dudley. Do not 
permit your rest to be disturbed on my account. I 
love the darkness. Not because I am altogether evil, 
but because of the solitude and peace which it brings. 
We can find ourselves better in the still hours; we 
can face ourselves and take counsel, and repent of 
what has been unworthy, and gather strength, per- 
chance, for the next day.” 

She raised her eyes with the tiniest frown of won- 
der, but he had bent down and was rubbing the fore- 
leg of The Prince. 

Peter arrived at this point with his implements and 
set vigorously to work, and in the space of a half- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


89 


hour the colt was safely domiciled anew, and was 
munching oats from a soap-box, both of which had 
been provided by his faithful groom. 

The remainder of the day passed with remarkable 
swiftness for John Glenning. He found in Julia a 
character of unusual charm. She was unsated with 
the world, unspoiled by men, unworried by the de- 
mands of society. Her life had been a trifle monoto- 
nous, perhaps, but she possessed the polish which 
gentle birth and proper environment bestows, and 
her ready, bright mind had been led along the chan- 
nels of the pure and good only. Her innate woman- 
liness was ever uppermost, never approaching 
prudery, but marking unmistakably her speech, 
gestures and manners. Soon after their return to 
the house they had been joined by Major Dudley, 
and ere he realized how time had flown the vigorous 
ringing of a bell on the side porch made Glenning 
aware that it was tea time. It was rather a frugal 
repast to which he sat down a few moments later, but 
the napery was snowy white, and the service of ele- 
gant silver, solid and old. Aunt Frances, in white 
cap and apron, moved ponderously about the board 
in prompt and deft manipulation of dishes, and to 
the poor office- and hotel-worn man it was as though 
he had accidentally strayed into Paradise. Candles 
in antique old brass holders lighted the table, and 
there was witchery in the misty halo they cast upon 
the fresh, lovely face and waving hair of Julia Dud- 
ley. She was happy and bright at tea, striving alike 
to entertain their guest and to lift the gloom which 


90 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


had again enveloped the Major. This side of her 
father’s nature she had seldom seen, and it made her 
afraid. Should he grow morose or brooding at his 
time of life the result would be disastrous, she knew, 
and before the meal was finished she made a mental 
resolve to bring about that very night the talk which 
the Major had promised her the afternoon before. 
Then she would be the better able to aid him. 

The sun was down when they again came out upon 
the portico, and twilight was silently clearing the way 
for darkness. 

“You have been most kind to me,” said Glenning, 
standing bareheaded upon the low step between the 
portico pillars. “Your hospitality has been the best 
thing I have known for a long time. Let me beg you. 
Major, not to let this little affair tonight keep you 
from sleeping. There is not the slightest use of any- 
one being at the smoke-house until after midnight, 
and I shall be here not later than twelve. If, how- 
ever, you would feel easier to know that a friendly 
eye was on The Prince, let Peter go. Remember I 
consented to your terms readily, and now I implore 
you to listen to me. Will you retire at your usual 
hour 

“I will see that father keeps to the house,” Julia 
said, with an unexpected firmness which surprised 
both her hearers. As she spoke she thrust her arm 
through the Major’s and pressed it gently. 

“There is not the slightest necessity for either of 
you to sit up,” resumed Glenning. “I shall come and 
quietly go around to the smoke-house and remain 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


91 


there till morning. And please do not be alarmed 
unnecessarily. I shall keep my word to you, Major, 
depend upon that, and above all, go to sleep with the 
positive assurance that The Prince shall pass through 
this night unharmed.” 

He clasped each one’s hand firmly, and turned 
away. 

As the tall, upright form disappeared down the 
avenue, Julia put one hand upon her father’s cheek. 

“Daddy,” she said, “this night I must hear why 
Devil Marston hates us.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


The day had been very warm, and the old settee on 
the portico offered a comfortable seat, so it was here 
Major Dudley and Julia decided to stay. The master 
of the house made one more effort at postponement, 
but the young mistress would have none of it. It must 
be that night, and at once. Affairs had shaped 
themselves in such a manner that a complete revela- 
tion of all that had been kept hidden from her was 
imperative. So Peter fetched the long-stemmed 
meerschaum pipe which his master never smoked 
except of evenings, and received his instructions re- 
garding the colt. These, by the way, were super- 
fluous, for the negro had already made his arrange- 
ments to be a bed-mate of The Prince that night. 
Then, with the faint odour of the cherished honey- 
suckle at the corner of the house in their nostrils, and 
the faraway plaint of a mourning whip-poor-will 
floating spookily up from the lowlands on their right, 
they settled themselves, one to the task of telling a 
story he had rather have kept, and the other listening 
eagerly, yet with a certain dread. Julia felt that a 
new existence was opening up for her, and it looked 
formidable enough in the uncertain atmosphere which 
now enveloped it. Hitherto her way had been smooth, 
and her tasks and renunciations had been those of 
love. But as she thought of that dark-faced, brutish 


[ 92 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


9S 


looking man who lived only a half mile further down 
the road, and knew that in some way both he and she 
were concerned in the tale she was to hear, for the 
first time in her happy life a vague terror took hold 
of her and her body sank closer to the form beside 
her. Major Dudley had his pipe alight by this time, 
but he was slow to begin speaking. For perhaps five 
minutes he said not a word, and Julia discreetly did 
not urge him. She knew it would come, and they had 
half the night ahead of them. Presently he?: father’s 
hand strayed over into her lap and found hers. 

“Julia,” he said, and his voice was so tender and 
caressing that the girl caught a sob in her throat, 
that he might not hear, and be distressed. “Julia, I 
have hoped all my life that it would never become 
necessary for you to hear this story. It but illus- 
trates man’s inhumanity to man, and shows the harm 
an evil mind can bring about. Now I will tell you all 
about it, for it is your right. 

“You never knew old Brule Marston. He was the 
father of our neighbour, and at heart was as vile a 
being as I have ever known. He loved your mother” 
— there was a catch in his voice here — “or at least 
pretended that he did, and wanted to marry her. His 
family’s position was good, but only from the great 
fortune they had always owned. In reality the 
Marstons have been a bad lot as far back as I have 
any recollection of them. They have lived in Ken- 
tucky a long time, but they have always bought their 
position in a community, and I have never knovTi one 
of the name to be a true gentleman, as we of the 


94 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Bluegrass construe the word. Brule Marston was 
hot-headed, rash, impetuous and domineering as a 
young man. We were near the same age, he being a 
few years my senior, and we knew each other but 
slightly, for our families never visited, as you well 
know. Your mother came from Virginia to visit in 
the neighbourhood. It was to the Beckwith home she 
came — you know Miss Adeline, the old maid who lives 
with the Rays. She was one of the belles of the 
period, and I met Margaret at their home. Brule 
Marston met her about the same time, and then the 
mischief started. Each of us loved her from the first, 
and in his own way. Brule tried to force her into a 
promise of marriage, and for a time I thought I had 
lost her. He was handsome in a dark, devilish way, 
and I think it was his dashing manner which capti- 
vated Margaret for a time. They were heavy days 
for me, my daughter, but I played fair, and never 
said or did an underhand thing to attempt to further 
my cause. She gave no preference to either suitor 
so far as being in her company was concerned, and 
we had an equal chance. In the end I won, and that 
was God’s choicest and sweetest gift to me. My rival 
took his defeat as might have been expected. He went 
raving wild when Margaret told him, and had not 
help been within call I believe he would have struck 
her in his frenzy. Then followed a prolonged drunken 
spree, when he scoured the country roads at night 
like a fiend escaped from hell, shouting his curses at 
the sky, and shooting his revolver recklessly. I had 
never feared him, and made no especial effort to avoid 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


95 


him in my nightly calls upon my fiancee. But I was 
glad we never met, for mischief most certainly would 
have ensued. 

“Margaret and I were married quietly, and now 
comes some more news. You know you have often 
spoken of your uncle Arthur’s picture over the mantel 
in the library, saying how sorry you were never to 
have known him? He was several years my junior, 
and had been at college in the East. He came home 
and met Margaret after she and I had confessed our 
love. He at once conceived a violent affection for her, 
and when he discovered he was too late to hope to win 
her, it went hard with him, indeed. He stayed till 
after the wedding, and then went West, following the 
lure of gold. For a few years we heard from him at 
intervals, then his letters ceased, and today we do not 
know whether he lives or not. We loved each other 
dearly, and it has always been a cross to me that I 
was the innocent cause of his exile. I have made 
efforts to find him, but they have all been futile. 

“Brule Marston disappeared a few days after our 
wedding. It was told that he took a boat at Louis- 
ville and went south, as far as New Orleans. He was 
gone a short time only, and when he returned he 
brought with him a woman. She was a quadroon, or 
a Creole, and she was exceedingly handsome in a 
flashy, barbaric way. Marston had loaded her with 
costly silks and jewels of all kinds, and introduced 
her as his wife. No one believed this to be true, and 
doors were closed upon them everywhere. In the 
course of a year a child was born to them, a son, who 


96 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


from his cradle was christened Devil Marston, for 
such was the wicked heart of Brule, his father, who 
worshiped nothing but his own passions, and made 
an open mock of religion. Then came the war, and 
I went with the South. Fearing to leave my young 
wife unprotected, I took her to her old home in Vir- 
ginia, and there she stayed safely until the bitter 
strife was over, and there you were born. When we 
returned home a fearful tale of horror awaited us. 
In a maniac fit of rage Brule Marston had killed the 
Creole woman whom he had brought up from New 
Orleans. No attempts had been made to bring him 
to justice for the crime. Partly because everything 
was so unhinged on account of the war and its effects, 
partly because no officer was brave enough to try 
arrest him. From that time on he lived alone in the 
old home down yonder, leaving the rearing of his son 
to an old negro woman who was reputed to be coarse 
and profane. Harrowing stories came to us of the 
fiendish cruelties Brule Marston practiced upon his 
servants, and he thought nothing of knocking one 
down and stamping him with his feet. 

“How swiftly the years have chased each other 
since I came back home with you and your mother! 
And how I have wished them back again — those short, 
sweet years which followed your coming, when Mar- 
garet, you and I lived in perfect unity, and peace, 
and love. But change is the order of the universe, 
and we must take it when it comes, bravely, if so be 
God gives us grace, and fit ourselves to meet the new 
needs. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


97 


“Brule Marston died upon a night of awful storm. 
It seemed as if the cohorts of Satan had assembled to 
escort his foul soul to the realms of the lost. I will 
tell you now what I learned later, and I pray you to 
be brave, my child, and do not fear. The only train- 
ing which Brule Marston instilled into his son was 
hatred of us. He never sought to teach him any good 
thing, or any worthy precept. His eternal and cease- 
less injunction was hate, hate, hate. He never forgot 
the fact that I had rohbed him of the pure being he 
had set his black heart on possessing, and revenge 
was the only feeling he harbored. Had he lived long 
enough I believe that in the end he would have 
wrought us some great harm, for I am assured that 
w^as his sole aim and desire. But death found him 
in the midst of his machinations, and stilled his hand. 
Devil IMarston was an apt pupil, and he readily im- 
bibed his father’s teachings. By birth he was well 
fitted for any scurrilous task or duty, and he has 
always found joy in causing pain. On that night of 
storm when old Brule died he called his son to his 
bedside, and laid upon him his dying wish. It was 
that Devil Marston should make it his life’s work to 
harass and oppress us, and at last to ruin us utterly, 
using his entire fortune for that purpose should it 
become necessary. It is needless for me to tell you the 
son was not slow to make the promise. It was a task 
entirely congenial to his nature. You have never 
been aware of it, my child, but he has had designs upon 
your happiness, knowing well that through you he 
could inflict the deepest pain upon me. You of course 


98 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


remember when he was at our home frequently, when 
we accorded him the courtesy due any one under our 
roof, while never extending him a welcome, or making 
him feel that his presence was desired. He always 
endeavored to be pleasant, but it transpired later that 
this was acting only; a mask for his true feelings. 
He often sought to be alone with you, but I could not 
trust the blood, worse mixed than ever in this man, 
and I always managed the situation so that I should 
be present also. This annoyed him, and he could not 
always hide his resentment — it would flame through 
the veil of decency he tried to wear with us. I did 
all in my power to discourage him from coming here, 
without asking him in so many words to stay away, 
but he had set his soul upon accomplishing a certain 
thing, and he would lose his soul rather than lose his 
project. Then came the night, not long ago, after 
which his visits ceased.” 

The low, regular, even tones stopped, and father 
and daughter sat close to each other in silence, each 
feeling the other’s sympathy through their clasped 
hands. As they sat thus in the sweet summer night 
a clatter of hoofs jangled through the star-lit dark. 
They came from off to the right — from the direction 
in which the man lived of whom they were talking. 
The sound gathered rapidly in volume, and a moment 
or two later they heard a horse running furiously by 
on the highroad in front of them, going towards 
town. As the noise died away in the distance Julia 
pressed the Major’s hand, but said nothing. 

“It is he,” spoke the father, in a voice of pro- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


99 


nounced melancholy. “So his sire rode before him, 
killing on an average two horses every year. It 
seems the devil not only dwells in them, but is con- 
tinually chasing them.” 

“What happened that night, daddy, when Mr. 
Marston came the last time.? I saw him only in pass- 
ing, and he looked nervous and angry.” 

“He was angry, little one. We ended it all in the 
library, but not until he had voluntarily torn away 
his mask. I would spare you this if I could — if you 
did not demand it.” 

Though it was dark Julia knew that he had turned 
to look at her. 

“But I demand it — everything. You will not find 
me weak, for I am stronger than you know, daddy 
dear.” 

“He would not sit down, although I insisted that 
he take a chair, so our interview occurred with us 
both standing. He was quite restless, and frequently 
walked the entire length of the room, switching at his 
legs with his whip, which he always carries. I do not 
think I had ever seen him so disturbed — ” 

“I know all that, daddy; please come to the vital 
part at once.” 

The Major drew a deep breath, as though in prep- 
aration for some great exertion. 

“He told me at the outset that he loved you, and 
that he wanted me to use my influence to gain your 
consent to marry him — damn him for a lying, mongrel 
cur !” 

The girl felt his deep rage trembling through the 


100 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


hand she held, but the sickening shudder which swept 
her from head to foot passed unnoticed by him. His 
mind was back on the memorable scene, when he had 
to grip a chair-back to keep his hands off the throat 
of the scoundrel who faced him — who had dared to 
come with his black sins thick upon him, and ask for 
a Dudley, for his, Thomas Dudley’s daughter in 
marriage ! When he resumed his story his voice was 
husky and uneven. 

“For a time I did not answer him. I feared to 
speak, for I would have cursed him from my home — 
would have driven him out like a rabid dog. I stood 
behind a chair and looked at him, and through his 
bravado I saw him grow afraid. He knew his words 
called for a bullet, and for a moment I believe he 
thought it was coming. He did not relish my silence. 
I am sure he had been drinking some, and his mood 
was more fiery and impetuous than usual. He wanted 
it all over quickly, and that prompted him to speak 
again. 

“ ‘Will you help me ? What do you say ?’ 

“Oh, how I wanted to splinter the chair before me 
against his face ! But I answered him thus : 

“ ‘I say that my daughter will never, never marry 
you. She scarcely knows you, she is but a child, but 
she is not, nor ever will be for you. Devil Marston !’ 

“Thus I answered him, and I have never seen a 
human face become so ferocious as his did at that mo- 
ment. All restraint vanished on the instant, and he 
became his own self, a raving beast. I do not recall 
his words. They were hot, reckless, vindictive and 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


101 


threatening. His fury became so great that he forgot 
all caution, and boasted of his money, and power, 
and what he was going to do to us. He vowed that 
he would bring us to a crust of bread before another 
year had gone, that he would literally starve us to 
his will. He spoke of the bank, of his power there 
as president, and declared that he would arrange to 
pass dividend after dividend if I did not reconsider. 
When I bought my stock he was only a director, but 
by unscrupulous wire-pulling and money manipula- 
tion he has become the head of the bank, and owns 
nearly fifty per cent, of the capital stock. That 
means, my daughter, that he really controls the bank’s 
affairs, and has power to declare or pass a dividend. 
He could not do the latter without crooked work, for 
the bank is prosperous to a high degree, but he glories 
in underhand methods, and would not hesitate to 
swear to a false statement. If he does do this, I can- 
not foresee the future very clearly, for you know 
that is our sole source of income. I made no attempt 
to pacify him. I did not want his good will, for his 
ill will were better. I patiently listened to his vol- 
canic speeches, and at last he wore himself out. 

“ ‘Now will you agree he concluded; ‘or will you 
have me for an enemy instead.^’ 

“ ‘I shall never agree to such a base proposition,’ 
I answered, ‘and I had rather have you for an enemy 
than a friend.’ Then I opened the door and pointed 
him out. ‘Don’t ever show your evil face in this 
house again !’ I said, and he went, mouthing inco- 
herent threats as he did so. That is the story, child, 


102 


THE MAN FHOM JERICHO 


and you cannot wonder that I have kept it from you, 
whom I would shield from every sharp wind.” 

Again there was silence on the portico. A bird 
rustled in the vines, and a tree-frog, awaking down 
on the lawn, shrilled his dolorous cry. Perhaps a 
half hour passed without a word being spoken. Then 
Julia’s calm voice said: 

“I believe you did right, and whatever happens you 
will know that I approved your actions, and if we 
must suffer because of this man we will suffer to- 
gether, and help each other all we can. I had no idea 
of — his feelings for me, but I cannot think them true 
and noble.” 

“They are assumed, and base as his nature can 
make them. He can no more love than a brute beast 
of the field.” 

“What could have been his motive last night Was 
it pretence only when he made as if he would rescue 
The Prince.^” 

“Nothing else. It was a sham show of courage be- 
fore you — and the people. He may have had some 
vague hope of getting the colt out, and thus winning 
favour with you, but whatever his momentary pur- 
pose, I am positive his ultimate and main one is our 
downfall.” 

They continued to discuss the future until the 
library clock struck ten. 

“You had better go to bed now, daddy,” said Julia, 
coaxingly. “You know it does not serve you well to 
sit up late, and nothing can be gained by it tonight. 
Peter is at the smoke-house now, and Doctor Glenning 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


103 


will be there long before the hour of danger. O daddy, 
what a brave, fine fellow this new doctor is ! I can 
scarcely understand how he has come to us, and taken 
possession of us, as it were. He carries things with 
a firm hand, and they all seem right and natural. 
Kiss me goodnight and go upstairs ; I shall be along 
presently.” 

The Major arose with a sigh, gave her the caress, 
and went indoors. Directly she heard his deliberate 
step on the stair. It was then she went in also, and 
carefully put out the lights. But instead of seeking 
her room she found a light, dark-coloured shawl and 
crept noiselessly back to the settee, leaving the front 
door slightly ajar. She could not go to sleep yet, 
and the sense of impending danger had so wrought 
upon her that she knew it would be entirely useless 
for her to attempt to compose herself for rest. A 
subdued excitement was running swiftly through her 
veins, so she wrapped the sombre folds of the ample 
shawl closely about her form, completely hiding the 
white dress which she wore, and let her mind review 
the incidents which had taken place the last twenty- 
four hours. The retrospection had its pleasant fea- 
tures, despite the loss and anxiety she had suffered. 
It was not a disquieting thought to know that a clean, 
athletic young gentleman with remarkable eyes and a 
new way of looking at things had for the time usurped 
control of the Dudley affairs, all in a way which bore 
no trace of forwardness. It was not a fearsome thing 
at all to sit there and know that within an hour or 
two a knight would be on the ground to champion her 


104 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


cause against any and all comers. But it was a new 
sensation for Julia. She had never had a sweetheart, 
and the only protection she knew was that offered by 
her father, which was really only a tender providing 
for her temporal wants. But this night romance 
walked abroad. A man, almost a stranger, was really 
to risk his life for her ! 

Swiftly the minutes raced by, and Julia was 
startled when the clock struck twelve. She was sure 
she had not slept, but this was the hour, and her 
knight had not come. As the vibrations from within 
pulsed into silence she became aware that something 
was moving on the drive. She strained her eyes 
through the nebulous star-shine, holding her breath 
in the tenseness of the moment. The figure of a man 
rapidly assumed proportions before her gaze. He 
was walking quickly, but noiselessly. He passed the 
portico step without stopping, and though he wore a 
cap and his coat was closely buttoned, Julia knew it 
was the one who had promised to be there at that 
time. She shrank back and clutched the shawl closely 
under her chin, but he looked in front of him only, 
and passed on around the corner of the house in the 
direction of the impromptu stable. 

Julia arose and went in, carefully locking the front 
door. Then she tipped up to her room, pausing at 
her father’s door to listen. From the regularity of 
his breathing, and the part of the room from whence 
the sound proceeded, she knew he was asleep. She 
was glad of this, for she had feared he would try to 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


105 


sit up. Passing into her own room she undressed and 
prepared herself for the night, then knelt by the open 
window, and with her elbows on the sill and her chin 
in her palms, gazed up at the starry space above her, 
and prayed. This was her nightly custom, to pray 
from her open casement. It seemed to her that a 
freer, more perfect and more intimate communication 
was established thus. It was only a fancy, of course, 
but it was one she always indulged in when the weather 
would allow. This night a new name was added to 
her petitions. She knelt there a long, long time after 
her prayers were done, listening, dreading to hear. 
But only the soft night sounds she had known always 
came to her. Then all at once a sweet drowsiness 
crept over her, and soon she was in bed, asleep. 

Glenning’s approach to the smoke-house came very 
near resulting in a tragedy. Preoccupied, he walked 
boldly to the door, and tried to open it. Instantly a 
belligerent and threatening voice informed him if he 
“teched dat do’ ag’in he’d git a hole in ’im yo’ c’d 
th’ow a dog thu!” John stepped quickly aside and 
opened a parley with the defender of the door. It 
was several minutes before Peter could be persuaded 
that it was the new doctor come to relieve him, al- 
though this part of the program had been dinned 
into him over and over again by Julia, and when at 
last the door was grudgingly opened a few inches, 
the rusty barrel of an army musket was the first thing 
to appear. But the exchange was then soon effected, 
and the relief guard had to unceremoniously cut off 


106 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


a long string of instructions from the departing 
Peter, by gently closing the door in that worthy’s 
face, and making it tight on the inside. 

Alone with the colt, Glenning drew a small lantern 
from his pocket, and made his brief preparations. 
With native denseness of mind, Peter had tethered 
The Prince broadside on to the window yawning 
blackly in the opposite wall. The man untied the 
halter, and led the animal to a point where it would 
be most inaccessible for anyone attempting it harm 
by employing the window, and that was really the 
only point where an attack could be successfully made, 
for the door was thick-beamed, and could not be 
forced. This done to his satisfaction, the man sat 
down directly under the window — in this position the 
hole was about two feet over his head — and drew 
forth a thirty-eight calibre revolver. The brief but 
thorough inspection he gave it showed it to be in per^ 
feet trim, so he carefully placed it on a shingle which 
happened to lie near by. Then he closed the slide of 
his lantern, found a comfortable attitude with his 
back against the logs, and did some thinking himself. 
His mind was keenly awake and alert, and he had no 
fear of falling asleep. Now and again he would look 
at his watch, then lean back and stare into the impene- 
trable blackness before him, and wonder things. The 
colt was very quiet, his only movement being an occa- 
sional stamp of the foot. Finally Glenning’s watch 
showed half-past two. At this time of the year it 
would begin to grow light soon after three. He arose 
agilely, and drew off his coat. Then he loosened his 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


lOT 


shirt at the throat, rolled his sleeves above his elbows, 
and again sat down, this time facing the window, with 
his knees drawn up. If the attack was really to be 
made that night it must come quickly. He had 
scarcely settled himself in this new attitude when he 
felt another presence. On the heels of this intuitive 
perception came light footfalls — a stealthy creeping 
on the balls of the feet. The prowler was circling the 
smoke-house, seeking some place of entrance. The 
feet stopped at the door, and Glenning heard the 
strain of the bolts as a shoulder was forcibly pressed 
upon the oaken planks. The man inside smiled 
grimly, and waited. A moment’s silence, and the 
footfalls came on, to the corner, around it, and the 
watcher caught the low exclamation of gratified sur- 
prise when the marauder saw the window. Glenning 
got to his knees and slowly rubbed the palms of his 
hands together, while his jaws grew hard. A shaft 
of yellow light darted through the window and danced 
among the blackened rafters near the roof, showing 
the broken bits of hempen strings which in past years 
had borne luscious burdens. The man crouching in- 
side set his eyes intently on the opening, while on his 
body and limbs the muscles rose and ridged them- 
selves for the coming battle. The sword of yellow 
light flickered lower and lower, revealing the beech 
logs to which the bark still clung, and the chinking 
between them. Lower, and around, till it shone in 
the honest, unsuspecting eyes of The Prince, and 
glistened on his withers, and found the spot on his 
shiny coat behind which his heart was beating. A 


108 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


hand holding a bulPs-eye lantern came through the 
window ; another hand holding a huge revolver, 
cocked, crept like a snake to its side. Then up from 
the darkness beneath the window sprang two other 
hands, long, slender, white and strong as steel. 
Around the wrists of the assassin these two hands 
closed in a grip so fierce that it brought a cry of pain 
and fright from the one outside, and lantern and re- 
volver fell to the soft earth inside the smoke-house. 
Then ensued a silent struggle, in which the captive 
strove with fiendish power born of terror and rage to 
free himself. Glenning, on his knees, sent all his 
strength to his vise-like hands. Not a word was 
spoken, not another sound was uttered. In the gloom 
the two men strove as two animals might, and their 
heavy breathing alone broke the stillness. Not for 
nothing had John Glenning kept himself in rigorous 
physical training from the first year he went to col- 
lege. All his hoarded strength leaped up at his call, 
and gave him the victory. Gradually the frantic 
struggles of the marauder stopped, and finally he 
ceased resisting. Then Glenning, with his hands still 
set in a superhuman grasp, spoke from between his 
clenched teeth. 

“Who are you.?” 

There was no answer. 

“Who are you.?” he repeated. 

Still no answer came. 

Then the captor began to draw down on the arms 
he held, forcing the bones against the log at the bottom 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


109 


of the window. Down, down, and a groan of pain 
escaped his prisoner. 

‘‘Who are you.^” he asked, for the third time. 

“Don’t break my arms !” said a voice. 

Glenning recognized it. 

“Are you Travers 

“Yes — yes — I’m Travers ! Let me go — for God’s 
sake ! You’re killing me !” 

“Who sent you to kill this horse 

A little more force was brought to bear with the 
question. 

“Marston — Devil Marston ! Ease up a little and 
I’ll talk — I swear I’ll talk !” 

John did as the man requested, though not lessen- 
ing his grip on the wrists. 

“Now let me tell you something. You don’t know 
who I am, but I want you to know. You came out 
here expecting easy sailing, because you thought 
there was no one here to protect this horse. I’m the 
new doctor who came last night, and I’m at your hotel. 
I won’t be there tomorrow night. I’m not making 
you any promises of secrecy about this matter, but 
I’d advise you to cut Marston. Now I want you to 
go to Marston tomorrow with this message from John 
Glenning. Tell him I say he’s got to leave the Dud- 
leys and the Dudley’s horse alone. Tell him the next 
one who comes here on mischief will be shot, if it is 
himself. Do you understand, and will you promise 
to tell him.?’” 

“Yes, I’ll tell him every word. But for God’s sake 


110 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


don’t you tell anybody of this. It’d ruin me. It’s 
the first time I’ve ever gone wrong, and if you’ll let 
me off I’ll swear not to do anything bad again. And 
I’ll tell Marston. He got me into this.” 

“I’ll not make you any promises, but I’ll see how 
you behave, for I’ve come here to stay. Go, now, 
before daylight catches you, and thank the Lord 
you’re alive !” 

In the first gray dawn of the next morning Peter 
knocked dubiously on the smoke-house door. It was 
opened promptly, and when he saw The Prince alive 
and unharmed his joy knew no bounds. Glenning 
dismissed his exuberant manifestations somewhat 
abruptly, for he was in haste to be gone. Instructing 
the darky to say to the Dudleys that nothing of any 
consequence had happened, he went around the house 
and down the avenue towards the road. 

And how was he to know that behind a partl}’^ lifted 
curtain in an upper room two sleep-sweet eyes, moist 
with beauty newly born, watched his retreating figure 
with something approaching tenderness in their 
depths ? 


CHAPTER VII. 


i 

When Devil Marston awoke that morning he was 
conscious of a vague feeling of satisfaction. As his 
brain grew more and more active he smiled broadly, 
showing his wolfish teeth, and threw himself from his 
bed. Good news would await him that morning. By 
covert watching he had seen where The Prince was 
to be stabled, and late the night before had gone in 
person to tell Dan Travers just how to go about the 
work. It was ridiculously easy — to make way with 
the colt — and ere this the thing had been done, for 
Travers had seemed eager for the undertaking. As 
he set about dressing Marston reviewed it all men- 
tally ; the success of his hireling’s venture, the dismay 
and consternation of the Dudleys, the total lack of 
proof as to who committed the crime. But the con- 
sciousness that those whom he hated would know 
positively who was back of the crime was the sweetest 
thought of all. And Travers was coming this morn- 
ing to make his report ; this had been Marston’s last 
order. He might arrive at any moment, and Marston 
wanted his breakfast before listening to good news, 
for it would sound better upon a full stomach. He 
opened a door and rudely bawled an order into 
vacancy, but a fear-filled negro’s voice answered him 
in assuring words. His rule was one of absolute 
terror. His servants were no more to him than so 


[ 111 ] 


112 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


many dogs, and they obeyed him as such. When he 
sat down to his meal a few minutes later an ill- 
favoured negro youth waited upon him, and a slat- 
ternly wench appeared at times from the kitchen, 
bringing new dishes to the door. Marston ate re- 
pulsively, as befitted his birth and character, and took 
an intense delight in his meal, which was coarse and 
poorly prepared. Throughout it all he listened re- 
peatedly for his expected caller, and when he rose 
from the table there was not the slightest suspicion in 
his mind that anything had gone wrong. He would 
go to the stable and have a look at his favourite 
racers. The last barrier which stood in the way of 
their supremacy had been removed, and he would 
gloat over them with increased pleasure now. He 
issued some harsh orders for directing his caller when 
he should arrive, and left the house with quick strides. 

As he walked around and about the noble animals 
which were his greatest pride his heart swelled with 
exultation. But when he came out of a stall presently 
and saw the man for whom he had been waiting stand- 
ing before him, a swift alarm seized him and made 
his dark face pale. For a moment they stood staring 
into each other’s eyes, one with mounting anger, the 
other with sullen passiveness. Then Marston strode 
forward and thrust his darkening visage close to 
Travers’ face. 

“Didn’t you do it, you sneak?” he demanded, his 
upper lip curling back, showing his fangs. “Don’t 
you dare to tell me you have failed me !” 

Travers’ accustomed nervousness had vanished. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


113 


He was perfectly calm as he stood within arm’s length 
of the infuriated Marston. 

“I’m the man to make a fuss,” he answered, “for 
you steered me into a hole which nearly cost me my 
life. I was discovered, captured, and had to tell all 
the business to get off with a whole skin !” 

Marston’s face grew black, and he shook in his 
track with rage. 

“You coward! You traitor! Who was there to 
capture you, and wring anything from you.^ Tell 
me, before I knock you down !” 

Travers pushed back his coat sleeves and held out 
his wrists. Each was ringed with purplish bands, 
and swollen. Then he related his experience in detail, 
and ended by delivering, word for word, the message 
which Glenning had sent. As Marston listened his 
rage rose up and choked him. At the conclusion of 
the recital he was wild, and moved about threshing 
the air with his fists. When he at length came to a 
standstill his face was the colour of ashes, and he was 
shaking from the violence of his emotion. 

“He said that, did he.^ The upstart! He’ll shoot 
me, will he.? He’s going to tell me what to do, and 
what not to do! I’ll attend to him! He’d better 
have stayed where he came from.” 

Then, muttering to himself as was his wont when 
enraged, he wheeled and went towards the house, 
leaving Travers to look out for himself. 

The landlord of the Union House did not tarry 
long. He had done a thing which yesterday he would 
not have believed himself capable of doing. Now he 


114 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


went slowly down to the yard gate, wondering at his 
bravery, got into a womout road-cart which he had 
borrowed in town from a country friend, and began 
his return trip. 

******* 

When Glenning had dispatched a hasty breakfast 
he sought the clerk in the hotel office and told him to 
have his bill ready some time that forenoon. That 
worthy at once evinced a loquacious interest in the 
new doctor’s affairs, and would fain have inquired 
his departing guest’s plans for the future, but John 
merely replied that he had no intention of leaving 
town, and went up to his room. Here he was soon 
joined by Tom Dillard, who came in wearing the most 
dejected air possible, tendered a perfunctory good 
morning to John’s hearty greeting, and sank upon 
the edge of the bed, his round, soft face wofully 
elongated. 

“Sick this morning, Dillard.^” queried Glenning, 
busy with the damaged clothes which still lay on the 
chair. “I’d as lieve have you for my first patient as 
anybody.” 

Dillard sighed, and shook his head dolorously. 

“Not exactly sick, and not exactly well,” he re- 
plied, “but it’s precious little sleeping I did last 
night.” 

“Indigestion 

“No; worry.” 

Glenning, briskly wielding a clothes brush, glanced 
at Dillard. He was evidently in the depths of despair, 
and had most likely come for consolation or advice. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


115 


“Do you suppose I can help you?” queried John, 
sympathetically. 

“I’m going to tell you about it, anyway, and see 
what you think. Maybe it looks pretty queer to you 
that I should come here and make a confidant of you 
when I hardly know you, but I have all kinds of faith 
in you, and this matter touches people I like im- 
mensely, and I know you’ll regard all I say as con- 
fidential.” 

He stopped, and let his fat hands stray vaguely 
over his knees. 

“Certainly I’ll keep still, Dillard, and I’ll be glad 
to help you all I can.” 

“You see it’s about the Dudleys. I don’t suppose 
you know it, but they’re poor as Job’s turkey. All 
they’ve got is that house and an acre or two of ground 
and that horse, and — fifty shares of bank stock. The 
old man bought this stock when he got too bad off to 
manage his racers properly — sold them, you see, and 
invested his money this way, so that he wouldn’t have 
any worry, and it’d bring ’em in just enough to live 
on. The bank’s boomin’, doin’ the best business it 
ever has, and has been declaring a five per cent, semi- 
annual dividend. That’s ten per cent, a year on the 
Major’s investment, which means five hundred dollars 
per annum for him and Miss Julia to live on — nothin’ 
handsome, you see, but it’ll keep ’em from gettin’ 
hungry. Now these people are my friends, and I 
hate to see ’em suffer.” 

“Well, what’s the worry? Is the bank insolvent? 
You just said it was doing a fine business.” 


116 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Best in its history! There’s a dividend due the 
last of this month, but it’s not going to be paid I” 

Glenning wheeled from where he was bending over 
his open trunk. 

“Why isn’t it going to be paid.^” 

“I’ll tell you.” 

Dillard looked around to see that no doors were 
open, then leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. 

“The president of our bank is a Mr. Marston. 
He’s rich as Jersey cream, and he owns the bulk of 
stock in the institution. He hates the Dudleys like 
snakes, and he never loses a chance to do something 
that’ll hurt ’em. The last meeting of the directors 
was the one at which the six months’ dividend should 
have been declared. We’ve earned it all right, and 
more besides. There’s no just reason under the sun 
why it shouldn’t have been paid. The whole board 
was in favor of it but Marston. They had a warm 
session. They hold their meetings in a back room 
at the bank, and while it was a closed meeting, I knew 
that an argument was in progress, for they were there 
an hour and a half. But they can’t go against 
Marston’s wishes. I learned later that he insisted on 
buying a new safe for the bank, which costs a pile o’ 
money, and also declared that some improvements had 
to be made in the bank building. The whole thing 
was bosh, for we have a good safe, and there are no 
improvements needed. It was just a well-aimed blow 
at the Dudleys, but it went through. The new safe 
and the improvements were ordered to record, and 
the dividend was passed. If that doesn’t mean starva- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


117 


tion for our friends then I don’t know what I’m talkin’ 
about.” 

Glenning did some quick thinking. Then he came 
over and sat down by Dillard’s side. 

“Is this generally known.?” 

“No ; but it will be when our statement is published 
in the Herald next Friday.” 

“I feel a warm personal interest in the Dudley’s 
affairs, Dillard, and I thank you for speaking so 
frankly. You have been open with me, and I will be 
the same with you, and together we will fight this low 
scoundrel. Listen. I arrived in your town night 
before last, a total stranger. Since then I have 
learned this much. Devil Marston hired an emissary 
to burn that stable. Yesterday, in that room over 
there, he and the man who conducts this hotel con- 
cocted a scheme whereby Travers should kill the Dud- 
ley’s colt last night. I overheard them, and went 
directly to the Dudleys with my story. They had no 
one to help them, so I volunteered. They consented, 
and I stood guard last night in the smoke-house where 
the horse was quartered. Travers came to do the foul 
deed and I caught him — literally caught him and held 
him with my hands and made him promise to go to 
this Marston and tell him that I would kill the next 
man who came to the Dudleys with mischievous 
intent.” 

Dillard looked at the earnest face before him with 
wide eyes and open mouth. He could scarcely believe 
the words he heard, though he did not doubt they 
were true. 


118 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Now,” resumed Glenning, firmly, “we at least 
know our man, and that is something. I do not fear 
him, but with you it is different. Yet if we confound 
him in the end I believe that you will have more to do 
with it than I. Let us speak with perfect candor. 
You are dependant for your living upon your 
salary ?” 

“Yes, there’s ma and me. We haven’t a thing, and 
our living comes from my salary at the bank.” 

“Just so. Then you couldn’t afford to openly op- 
pose your president. You would quickly lose your 
position if you did. We must move very carefully. 
Does Marston take an active interest in affairs at the 
bank.^ I mean is he familiar with the books, and the 
accounts — in other words, is he a live president, and 
not a figure-head merely.?” 

“He’s in every day, poking and prying around. 
There’s nothing goes on that he doesn’t know about.” 

“Does the clerical force like him.?” 

“He hasn’t a friend in the bank, not even the 
cashier. We all know he’s a rascal, but he’s so power- 
ful that we’re afraid to say a word aloud when he’s 
around.” 

“What is your position, Dillard.?” 

“Head bookkeeper.” 

“Then let me make a suggestion to you. Watch 
Marston. Watch his every movement. You know 
the national banking laws. See that he doesn’t in- 
fringe on them. A man as unscrupulous as he is liable 
to attempt anything. Watch him. Watch every 
mark he makes with a pen, and the first time he steps 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


119 


over the line come to me and let me know. Will you 
do it?” 

“I’ll do it, doctor, and I don’t believe I’ll have to 
wait very long.” 

Then they sat in silence for a few minutes, each 
thinking of what the other had said. 

Glenning spoke. 

“I hope you will understand me, Dillard, when I 
ask how Major Dudley’s account stands?” 

“Certainly, doctor. I was looking at it yesterday, 
and it’s almost even. Only a few dollars to his credit. 
I swear I don’t know what’ll become of ’em !” 

Glenning knit his brows thoughtfully. 

“They’ll have to live in spite of Marston,” he said. 
“How this will be I can’t say now, but they shan’t 
want because a low-lived rascal has the upper hand 
for the time. ♦ * ♦ j shall want to begin a small 

account with your bank today.” 

“All right. New depositors are always welcome.” 

“And I must get away from this hotel, Dillard. 
After my experience last night I think it wise for me 
to change my quarters. Don’t you know of a vacant 
room upstairs over some one of your business houses, 
and isn’t there a private boarding-house where I 
might get my meals?” 

“I’m pretty sure I can fix you up that way. Sup- 
pose we start now, before I go to work? You can 
come back and finish packing.” 

“Good ; I’ll appreciate your help.” 

By three o’clock that afternoon the new doctor was 
thoroughly established in Macon. The boarding- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


120 

house where he secured accommodations was diag- 
onally across the street from the house which he had 
seen Doctor Kale enter the day before — and which he 
learned later was the old gentleman’s residence — and 
he had secured two rooms over a dry goods store on 
Main street, just opposite the courthouse, which 
suited his purposes admirably for offices. The back 
apartment, which was entered first, was a consulting 
room, and contained his library, while the front one 
was his office proper. As a finishing touch John 
swung his sign over the sidewalk below, then came 
upstairs and sat down by an open window with a 
book. But his mind was not in a proper condition 
for either reading or study. Dillard’s revelation had 
proven a source of much concern, and he had not been 
able to get away from it. In vain he tried to argue 
with his conscience that the Dudleys were nothing to 
him, and that he would have his hands full making his 
way in his new field of labor. This course of reason- 
ing proved futile. The sweet face and trusting eyes 
of J ulia dispelled the illusion, and he realized that he 
had to take a hand in the game which Fate had pre- 
pared. The conviction being established, the next 
thing was to work out the solution. But no plan 
would come ; he knew that he was bound and helpless. 

It was an ideal mid-afternoon in summer, and as 
Glenning gazed listlessly from the window he saw an 
almost deserted thoroughfare. A negro lad went 
whistling down the opposite pavement, clattering a 
stick along the iron palings of the courthouse fence ; 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


1^1 


the leaves of the trees in the courthouse yard hung 
motionless in the quiet atmosphere, and even the ever- 
busy English sparrows seemed taking a siesta. 

Directly several men emerged from one of the law- 
yer’s offices which made up three sides of Court 
Square. None of them wore coats, and one was with- 
out either coat or vest. From the remainder of his 
apparel he was evidently a farmer. An old man with 
a long, white beard, holding in his hand a staff longer 
than himself. He was much excited, for he hopped 
about in a bird-like way, wagging his whiskers and 
scratching his head and ever and again thumping the 
earth with his staff. An altercation was evidently in 
p^-ogress among the men, and the voice of the old 
fellow was always loudest. He was plainly insisting 
upon a point which was meeting with some resistance. 
Another party now joined the group, and Glenning 
at once recognized Doctor Kale. As he made his ap- 
pearance, the old fellow with the rod danced up to 
him with a gesture almost threatening and began a 
loud-voiced harangue. Doctor Kale was obdurate. 
He shook his head and thumped about, and remained 
firm. He of the long whiskers was rapidly working 
himself up to the fighting point, when a man who had 
been standing somewhat apart came up, caught him 
by the arm, and pointed across the street to a point 
directly beneath the window where John sat. What 
he said worked like magic. The old fellow beckoned 
Doctor Kale, grasped the arm of another member of 
the party, and the three at once started across the 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


road. Another moment John heard heavy footsteps 
climbing the stair. Before he could reach the door 
it was opened hurriedly, and the men trooped in. 

“There he is !” grumbled Doctor Kale, starting on 
a tour around the walls of the room, sniffing his wrath, 
and ignoring the necessity of any sort of an intro- 
duction. 

“I want a doctor ! I ain’t sick ’n’ my fam’ly ain’t 
sick, but Dink Scribbens took with the small-pox las’ 
night ’n’ me ’n’ my folks has to pass his door ever’ 
time we come to town! That ol’ hippity-hop (indi- 
cating the still marching figure of Doctor Kale) ’s 
skeered to go, though he never caught anything in 
his life !” 

“I’m not afraid !” promptly fired back Doctor Kale. 
“I’ve waited on small-pox, chicken-pox, rosiola, 
measles, and every skin disease you ever heard of, 
but I’m not going to give my time to these damned 
paupers I Paupers ’ve got no business gettin’ sick !” 

“Are these people — paupers.^” asked John, ad- 
dressing the question to the third man, who up to this 
time had maintained silence through necessity. He 
was a large, stout individual, bearing plainly upon 
his face the marks of conviviality. He came forward 
heavily, and held out his hand. 

“I’m Joe Colver, county judge,” he said, dragging 
his words as though each was anchored in his chest. 
“Uncle Billy Hoonover come in a while ago sayin’ 
the Scribbenses had small-pox. I don’t know whether 
he knows what he’s talkin’ about or not, but they live 
in our countv and it’s our duty to investigate it and 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


US 


if necessary put a quarantine on ’em.” He smiled 
laboriously as he continued. “We usually give cases 
like this to the young fellers. The old bosses git 
above it, you know. If you’ll go and take charge I’ll 
promise the county’ll allow you a reasonable fee. 
And you’ll save Uncle Billy Hoonover a fit of some 
kind if you’ll go pretty quick.” 

“Fit !” shrilled Uncle Billy, prancing up and down. 
“Who wouldn’t have a fit with the ketchin’ small-pox 
under his nose? Tell me that?” 

“I’ll go, judge,” said Glenning; “where do they 
live?” 

“Under my nose!” reiterated Uncle Billy. “A 
crick ’n’ a narrer fiel’ ’twixt them ’n’ me I The win’ 
could blow it right in my door if it set right!” 

Doctor Kale had at last brought himself up, and 
he now cast a withering look of scorn upon the ex- 
cited layman. He was plainly too full for words, 
for in a moment he clapped his hat on his head and 
bustled out with it riding his ears. 

“Old Kale’s a caution,” commented the judge, 
laughing lazily, “but he’s got plenty o’ doctor sense. 
He’s got the cream o’ the practice about here. The 
best people want ’im, and they’ll wait for ’im if they 
ain’t pretty bad off. I knew you was on a cold trail. 
Uncle Billy, when you struck Kale.” 

“He’d better quit if he can’t ’ten’ to the sick. I 
don’t b’lieve in ’scrimination, nohow. He might ’a’ 
knowed the county’d ’a’ paid ’im for his work. There 
never was a county without paupers in it, ’n’ they’re 
always gittin’ somethin’ worse’n anybody else!” 


124 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Judge Colver waved his hand and turned to go. 

“Uncle Billy’ll show you where they live, doctor. 
I wish you’d bring me your report as soon as you get 
back. We haven’t had small-pox in the county for 
thirty years,” he added, as his big figure moved pon- 
derously out the door. 

Mr. Hoonover had carried his point, but that fact 
in no wise stilled his tongue. He must talk. An 
argument was always better suited to his tempera- 
ment, which was naturally belligerent, but when con- 
troversy was impossible he rambled on anyhow. 
While Glenning was making his brief preparations 
Uncle Billy’s tongue was going. 

“I hope you’ll run ol’ Kale till he takes in his sign !” 
he piped. “A doctor oughter be for ever’body, but 
ol’ Kale’s for the quality stric’ly. I do b’lieve he’d be 
glad if I was took with the small-pox, so’t he could 
git a dig at me.” 

“Oh, then he is your family physician, too.?^” 

“Yes, yes ; I’m a fool like the balance of ’em. But 
it don’t pay to git stuck on any one doctor, for they’ll 
either neglect you or bulldooze you when you do. If 
you c’n cure the Scribbenses, durned if I don’t switch 
off ’n’ have you for a spell !” 

Glenning smiled as he picked up his medicine case 
and reached for his hat. 

“We don’t cure small-pox as easily as we do some 
things,” he said. * * * “j understand these 

people live some distance from town.^” 

“Yes, on the Hillville pike — that is, you go that 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


125 


pike for a couple o’ mile, ’n’ then strike out a side 
road passin’ my place.” 

“Am I to go with you.?” 

“Yes, my buggy’s ready — ” Uncle Billy stopped 
at the foot of the stair they had been descending, and 
squinted suspiciously up at John, one step above him. 
“But how’r’ you go in’ to git back.? I can’t tech you 
nor be a-nigh you after yo’ve handled the small-pox !” 

“I’ll have my horse and buggy here in a day or 
two — from Jericho,” mused Glenning. “I tell you. 
I’ll get a vehicle from the nearest stable. Where is 
it — your nearest livery stable.?” 

They came out on the pavement, side by side. 

“Yonder.” Uncle Billy pointed with his pilgrim’s 
staff. “Half way down the square where them men 
are settin’ tilted back talkin’ hard times — that’s what 
they’re doin’ if I can’t hear ’em. I know ever’ blessed 
one of ’em from here. See the place.? Got a big red 
boss painted over the door. Ask for Steve Duncan 
or Lige Lane — they run it, ’n’ are good men. Say I 
sent you. Yonder’s my nag, hitched to that lamp 
post.” 

The pilgrim’s staff came swinging vigorously 
around to do its duty as an index, and caught Mr. 
Devil Marston’s hat midway, knocking it into the 
dust of the gutter, where it rolled over a few times as 
knocked-off hats invariably do. The victim of this 
harmless accident would not, under ordinary circum- 
stances, have taken it lightly. Mr. Hoonover made a 
motion to recover the property he had unintention- 


126 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


ally mistreated, but Marston, cat-like, had the hat in 
his hands, brushing it with his sleeve, before Uncle 
Billy’s wits could fully take in the situation. 

“Mind what you’re about, you damned old buz- 
zard!” he gritted, his small eyes glinting wickedly. 
“If you’ve got to carry a fishing pole around with 
you why don’t you stay in the cornfield, where you 
belong .P” 

Uncle Billy’s booted feet began to go up and down. 
His straggling whiskers trembled from anger and he 
combed them with restless fingers as he fired back — 

“I didn’t go to do it, ’n’ I’s goin’ to pick it up for 
you, you — 3^011 — you son of a nigger I” 

A big brown fist came like a lightning bolt at the 
old fellow’s convulsed face, but swifter yet was Glen- 
ning’s stroke which threw up the threatening arm, 
and this was follow^ed by another which sent the burly 
form reeling, though it did not fall. Then as John 
dragged Uncle Billy into the little passageway at the 
foot of the stair some men came running towards the 
scene. They arrived in time to la3r restraining hands 
upon Marston, who had his revolver out and was 
advancing to renew the trouble. By main force they 
held him for a time, until he had become calmer, and 
it w^as big Joe Colver who took his pistol from him 
and told him he would be arrested if he did not go on 
his way peaceably, and at once. This he reluctantly 
consented to do, and the judge walked with him to 
the bank, which he entered. 

While this was going on, John had literally held 
Uncle Billy captive. The touchy old man’s ire was 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


m 

aflame at its highest pitch, and he wanted to fight. 
When the coast was clear John reminded him of the 
urgent need which called them to the country, and 
escorted him to his buggy. Then, assuring him that 
he would return immediately, and begging him to 
remain in his buggy, Glenning hastily sought the 
livery stable. While he was waiting for his horse to 
be gotten ready he saw, diagonally across the street, 
a brick building with the words Macon National 
Bank, in large letters over the door. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


By the time the start was made Mr. Hoonover had 
cooled down somewhat. He went in front, of course, 
in his capacity as guide, but all along the two and a 
half miles drive he was constantly jerking about in 
his seat to look back and shout some question or re- 
mark to the man in his wake. Thus before their 
destination was reached he had proven, in tones loud 
enough for all the countryside to hear, that the man 
who had attacked him was indeed part negro, that he 
himself always lived at peace with his neighbours, 
and that from this day forward he intended to go 
“loaded” for Marston. The garrulity of the old 
farmer annoyed Glenning somewhat, who had his own 
forebodings as to the result of the unfortunate en- 
counter on the street, and he replied to Mr. Hoon- 
over’s demonstrations only by a nod of the head, or a 
smile. So busy was that gentleman looking behind 
to see that his remarks were heard, that his horse 
drew him almost in front of the Scribbenses before 
he knew it. When he suddenly discovered his prox- 
imity to the infected shack, and realized that his horse 
was moving in a slow jog, he tightened his reins and 
began to belabour his beast with the staff he held. 
As he dashed at a gallop past the dreaded spot he 
shouted some unintelligible communication wildly 
over his shoulder, and was out of sight before Glen- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


129 


ning drew up at a broken down stake-and-rider fence 
skirting the road. He looked about him as he got 
out and hitched his horse. The spot seemed the 
abomination of desolation. The by-road was rutty 
and not kept ; deep sluices showed on either side of it, 
where no effort had been made to check the ravages 
of heavy rains. A worthless species of grass grew 
in sickly clumps, dust-covered. Blackberry vines, 
sassafras and sumac bushes made one inextricable 
tangle of vegetation along the zigzag fence. There 
was a gap in the fence which served for a gate. John 
went through, then stopped for a moment. Not from 
fear at entering the stricken place. He had no bodily 
fear, nor ever had. But the awful loneliness of the 
spot weighed upon him. Low hills, bush-dotted and 
gullied, arose on every side except the southern one, 
where a small field, untilled and marshy, lay along a 
creek bed, now nearly dry. Beyond this, and perhaps 
half a mile away, on higher ground, was a rather 
pretentious looking farmhouse which he guessed, 
rightly, to be the home of Mr. Hoonover. The miser- 
able log shanty facing him was pitiful in its decay and 
loneliness. The ground all about it was bare, and a 
few stunted, shrivelled cedars stood at one side. The 
chinking had fallen from the stick-and-mud chimney, 
and it looked like the torso of some giant skeleton. 
The door was shut; the one window darkened from 
the inside by what appeared to be a ragged quilt. A 
lean brown cur lay by the rotten log serving for a 
door step, too lazy or too near dead from starvation 
to lift ihs voice at the intrusion of a stranger. The 


130 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


dog was the only sign of life. All the rest was silence, 
poverty, desolation. No birds sang here ; not even the 
shrilling of an insect cut the great stillness. A feeling 
almost of awe came over John Glenning, standing 
there alone in the strong sunlight, vigorous, assertive, 
confident of his power to do. He scarcely wondered 
that Doctor Kale had refused the case. But he was 
glad he had taken it. Not alone to get a start in the 
community, for this was a beginning at practice 
which most men would not value, but here was a fel- 
low being, sick, friendless and helpless. He would 
save him if he could, although the pauper’s life could 
scarcely be of use to anyone, and he would be better 
off dead. 

J ohn’s grip tightened on the handle of his medicine 
case and he walked briskly and firmly to the door, 
and knocked. The cur arose and slunk a few paces 
to one side, then lay down again, with his yellow eyes 
fixed on the man. The door was opened a crack, and 
a rasping female voice said: 

“Go ’way. My man’s got the small-pox !” 

“I’m the doctor,” answered Glenning; “let me in.” 

There was a moment’s hesitation, during which a 
brief argument took place between the woman and 
some one else inside, then the door was grudgingly 
opened wide enough for John to enter, when it was 
promptly closed. 

“Thar he is,” said the woman. “Go to ’im; he’s 
purty bad.” 

The sudden transition from the bright sunlight to 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


131 


the gloom of the cabin made it impossible for Glen- 
ning to see distinctly. He was vaguely conscious of 
the presence of a number of persons, and he could 
barely discern the outlines of a figure stretched on a 
bunk in a corner. 

“All of you’ll die if you don’t have light and air,” 
he announced, almost harshly, and striding to the 
window, removed the flimsy curtain. Then he turned 
abruptly to the woman who stood with mouth agape 
in the middle of the room. “Open the door !” he com- 
manded ; “let some air in here !” 

She was a slatternly creature of uncertain age, her 
stooped shoulders and lined face showing her kinship 
with want and all physical suffering. She looked with 
curious intentness at the tall young man who seemed 
to so fill the small room, and did his bidding. 

“Ye don’t b’long in Mac’n, do ye.^” she asked. 
“ ’Pears to me I’ve never saw ye before.” 

“I belong there now,” replied John, shortly. “Came 
several days ago.” 

His quick eyes were taking in the meagre appoint- 
ments of the room, and its occupants, as he was walk- 
ing towards the sick man in his corner. The place 
seemed swarming with children of all ages and both 
sexes ; they were thick as rats in a corn-bin. He could 
not believe all of them the offsprings of this destitute 
pair, and he voiced his idea as he knelt by the pallet. 

“What are all these children doing here.^ Send 
them home. Don’t you know they’re in danger.^” 

“They air home, thank ye!” rasped the woman, in 


132 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


quick defense of her brood. “They’re our'n, I’d hev 
ye know, ever’ blessed one, ’n’ they’ve got more right 
here than you hev, ef you air a doctor !” 

“No offense!” mumbled Glenning, taking the hairy 
wrist which listlessly lay on the ragged counterpane 
and feeling for the pulse with tips of practiced 
fingers. 

The children had huddled like sheep against the 
wall furthest away, a tattered, unkempt crew of mis- 
begotten humanity ; terrible fruit of a union of ignor- 
ance and brute passion. They said not a word, but 
clung to each other as though menaced by some visi- 
ble danger. The woman stood in the center of the 
floor, also silent, her hands clasped under her dirty 
apron, and her stringy neck outstretched as she 
watched the doctor. The thing under Glenning’s 
hand must have been made by God, but it hardly 
looked it. It would not have looked it in health, and 
in the grip of a loathsome disease it was doubly re- 
pulsive. The man’s figure was thin and bony. He 
lay sick in his shirt and trousers, for he had no night 
clothes, to say nothing of underwear, which in all 
probability he had never known. His shoes were off, 
and his feet, knotty, and grimy with the ground-in 
dirt of many months, stuck from under the narrow 
coverlet which lay over him. His soiled shirt was 
open at the throat — a throat presenting alternate 
ridge and hollow, and covered scantily with colorless 
hair. His face was gaunt; his teeth broken and 
tobacco-stained; his nose twisted oddly. His hair 
was a sandy mop. His eyes were cunning and treach- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


13J 


erous. His face was already marked with dull red 
spots, and he was burning with fever. 

Glenning’s face was solemn. 

“How long have you been sick.^” he asked. 

“Two weeks off ’n’ on, I reck’n,” answered the man. 

“How long have you been in bed 

“Tuk bed yistiddy.” 

“You should have been in bed ten days, at least. 
You’re pretty sick, my man.” 

A shadow of alarm flashed over the bestial counte- 
nance. 

“I won’t die, doc, will Yo’ don’t mean I’m 
gunta dieT' 

In his eagerness he grasped the sleeve of the figure 
kneeling beside him. 

“You’ve got to cyore ’im, doc!” wailed the woman. 
“I can’t live ’ithout my man!” 

She walked about wringing her hands. 

“You’ve waited too long before seeking help,” con- 
tinued John, getting to his feet. “There’s a chance 
for you — a slim one, but I’ll do what I can.” 

He found a rickety chair, and sat down gingerly. 

The older children began to snuffle, and the younger 
ones burst out crying and ran to their mother, hiding 
their dirty faces in her dirtier clothes. 

“Small chance in this reeking hole for a man with 
small-pox,” mused Glenning, then he looked at Mrs. 
Scribbens, and said: 

“That man should have a bath, first of all, from 
head to foot ; a scrubbing. Can you give it to him 

“I ’low I kin,” responded the woman, briskly, “but 


134 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


weuns ain’t much on the wash. Will lye soap do, 
doc.f^” 

John cast a look at the sick man, and guessed at 
the texture of his skin. 

“Yes, lye soap will do, but have your water hot, 
and rinse him off well when you’re through. I’m 
going to leave some medicine which I want you to 
give him through the night.” 

Mrs. Scribbens disappeared out a door in the rear 
which led to the back premises, and busied herself 
making a fire under a large iron kettle which hung 
from a blackened limb, itself supported by two forked 
sticks sunk in the ground. The numerous progeny 
trooped after her en masse, vaguely sensing an omen 
of evil in the presence of the doctor, and turning, 
like little wild things, to their best friend and pro- 
tector. 

Glenning had his case on his knees, rapidly pre- 
paring the doses to be given that night. There was a 
slight movement from the pallet, and a terror-laden 
voice called — 

“Doc!” 

John turned his head. 

“Doc, fur hones’ I Tell me ! Don’t be skeered it’ll 
finish me right off. Now, while the woman ’n’ the 
chil’n ’re gone, tell me I” 

A beam of pity struggled to the brown, tired eyes 
of the man sitting above him. After all this was his 
brother — this thing in its filth and misery and cal- 
lousness had had a soul breathed into it by a common 
God years ago. Should he not feel compassion for 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


135 


anyone whose feet had come so near the brink of the 
Valley of the Shadow? He did feel compassion; the 
wave which swept him as the pleading, untaught tones 
came to him was almost protecting. His brother! 
Though one’s feet had never left the shallows, and 
the other’s, not long before, had fared through 
strange and awful deeps where dreadful monsters 
lurked in the guise of innocence and beauty so rare 
that it was blasting. 

With a quick movement John leaned down and 
took the hard, seamed hand. 

“You haven’t got even chances,” he said. “I can’t 
promise anything but this: I’ll do for you what I’d 
do for the richest man in Macon 1” 

“I never heerd sich talk!” exclaimed Scribbens. 
“What sort o’ man air ye?” 

“A pretty poor sort, but I’ve studied medicine 
mighty hard. You’ve got to pull like blazes to get 
through. * * * Can you do it. Keep a stout 

heart, I mean, and believe all the time you’re coming 
out all right?” 

“I dunno. I hurt pow’ful, ’n’ I’m burnt to 
scorchin’.” 

A paroxysm of abject fear seized him, and he 
pulled the quilt, full of holes, up over his head to hide 
the wild expression on his face. He lay there and 
shook with dread — dread of dying — dread of the vast 
unknown, and of the punishment he felt surely was 
awaiting him. John went on with his work. The 
packages were done up and the medicine case snapped 
to and placed on the floor. Still the coverlet was 


136 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


convulsed with erratic movements. Directly the man 
jerked the quilt from his face, showing it all a-sweat 
with anguish. 

“Doc !” he groaned. “I can’t ! I can’t go this 
way! It mought be tonight — in the dark! I feel 
cur’is ! D’ye think I’ll go tonight?” 

“I think not, Scribbens — cheer up ! You’re not 
that sick yet.” 

“But ye can’t tell !” persisted Dink. “Th’ ketchin’ 
small-pox is orful. I’ve heerd uv it before. It gits 
ye w’en ye’re not watchin’. ’N’ say, doc, I’ve got 
somethin’ to tell — ” 

He raised himself on a sharp elbow and glanced 
dreadfully at the back door. 

“ ’Fore the woman gits back. ’Tain’t wuth while 
to bother ’bout a preacher ur a priest. I’ve never 
j’ined a church — ain’t Cath’lic — ain’t nothin’. But 
I’ve got to tell somebody. It’ll make it easier. I’m 
goin’ to tell you, doc.” 

He fell back, and his hands strayed about nervously 
over his breast. 

“Tell me if you wish,” said Glenning, gently; “if 
it will help you.” 

“Oh, it will, doc ! It’s been eatin’ on me ever’ since 
I done it. I’s never shore ’nough bad till that man 
made me bad. I’m always been pore as a dawg, ’n’ 
wuthless, ’n’ no ’count fur nothin’. I’ve stole, some- 
times, w’en the kids was hongry, but that don’t bother 
me none. Them that I got frum never missed 
some cawn ur a chick’n now’n then. ‘Tain’t that, 
doc.” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


137 


He stopped again, breathing fast. It was hard for 
him to lay bare the story of his wrong-doing. 

“I heer ye tell th’ woman that ye come a few days 
ago,” he resumed, in a steadier tone. “Then ye don’t 
know many folks ’bout here, I reck’n. But thar’s 
some mighty bad uns, ’n’ I reck’n Devil Marston’s 
the wust. I ’low yo’s heerd uv how a stable wuz 
burned a few nights ago, at the aidge o’ town.^ Thar 
wuz a boss in that stable, ’n’ some feller ur ’nother 
drug ’im out. It wuz Major Dudley’s. Thar’s a 
good man, doc. He’s give to me w’en I’d go to ’im 
with a tale o’ no work ’n’ hongry kids at home, ’n’ 
maybe he wuz hongry at the same time, fur all his big 
house he’s nigh bad off as I am. But his boss’s a 
wonder, ’n’ Devil Marston’s got some hisself whut kin 
run some. He comes to me one day, Marston did, 
’n’ shows me a ten-dollar greenback, ’n’ said he’d give 
it to me ef I’d take some powders he had with ’im, all 
wropped up, ’n’ slip in ’n’ put that stuff in th’ boss’s 
feed. I knowed it wuz WTong, doc. I knowed it wuz 
p’izen, but I tuk it, ’n’ the money, too, ’n’ that night 
I slipped in ’n’ done whut he tol’ me to do. The nex’ 
day he come to me b’ilin‘ mad, ’n’ ’lowed I’d tricked 
’im. He said the boss’s still alive, ’cause he’d saw 
’im, ’n’ that I’d took ’is money ’n’ didn’t do whut I’d 
said I’d do. But he lied, doc, ’cause I toted fa’r. 
But he tore up snakes, and said he’s gunta hosswhip 
me, ’n’ come put nigh hittin’ me. ’N’ he cussed me 
some more ’n’ pulled out another ten-dollar bill, ’n’ 
th’owed it at me, ’n’ ’lowed that ef I’d go that night 
’n’ burn the stable up with the boss locked in it he’d 


138 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


call it squar. I didn’t want to do it, doc, I sw’ar I 
didn’t, ’cause Major Dudley’s been good to me, but 
I’s skeered not to. That Devil Marston jist looked 
at me with his snake eyes ’n’ ’lowed that if I failed 
’im ag’in he’d come ’n’ shoot me daid. ’N’ I went, 
nigh onto midnight, ’n’ I got some straw out’n the 
lof’ — a hull big armful o’ dry straw, ’n’ piled it ag’in 
the door o’ the stable, ’n’ sot fire to it. Then I run. 
I run till I got home, but I saw the light in the sky, 
’n’ knowed the hoss wuz gone this time. But the nex’ 
day I heered o’ some feller draggin’ ’im out ! Then I 
tuk sick, ’n’ I s’pose it’s a jedgment on me fur bein’ 
so wicked. But he made me do it! He made me! 
’Twarn’t so much his money, but I’s skeered uv ’im. 
You don’t know Devil Marston, doc. His name’s 
fittin’. ’N’ now I feel better, doc ; I sw’ar I do !” 

For a moment Glenning sat silent. 

“Yes, I know Devil Marston,” he said at last, “and 
he is a bad man. And I know the Dudleys, too, and 
I know the man who went in for the colt.” 

“Ye won’t tell, doc, will ye.?” asked Scribbens, in 
sudden alarm. “Ye won’t give me ’way.?” 

“I’ll promise that no harm shall come to you 
because of the things that you’ve told me. But you’re 
a bad man, too. Dink Scribbens — a low down, das- 
tardly coward!” 

The figure below shrank back under the stern, ac- 
cusing voice. 

“I know it! I know it! It’s kep’ me ’wake ever 
since I done it!” 

He was almost whimpering now, and J ohn realized 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


1B9 


the utter futility of a sermon at this time. The ar- 
rival of Mrs. Scribbens at this juncture with her 
corps of satellites put an end to further confidences. 
John arose. 

‘T’ve het the water!” announced Mrs. Scribbens, 
standing with a chunk of lye soap in one hand and a 
battered and dented tin washpan in the other from 
which steam was rising. 

“Very well,” said Glenning. “Get him clean. Give 
him one of these when you have finished, another at 
midnight, and a third in the morning. Have you a 
clock 

His gaze swept the pitifully bare room and failed 
to reveal one. 

“Humph!” sniffed Mrs. Scribbens. “The roosters 
crow, don’t they.^ He’ll git his dose at midnight!” 

“Keep the children out of doors as much as you 
can; make each of them bathe every day and do the 
same yourself. I’ll come back in the morning and 
bring something for each of you to take to keep you 
from catching the small-pox. Good-day.” 

The sweet summer afterglow which immediately 
follows the going down of the sun was spread mys- 
teriously over all the landscape as John got in his 
buggy and began his return trip. The confession to 
which he had just given ear did not occupy his mind 
much. He knew beforehand that it must have been 
some creature like this ; some degraded, conscience- 
less, cast-off devil. Dink Scribbens didn’t matter, 
but Marston did — Marston, whose heavy figure was 
beginning already to loom on his life’s horizon por- 


140 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


tentously. Now, since the occurrence on the streets 
of Macon a couple of hours before, he knew that 
trouble was ahead for him, swift and sure. Marston 
hated him well enough before that incident, providing 
Travers had delivered his message properly, but now 
— to be struck on the chest and almost knocked down ! 
Glenning heard the little voice which always speaks 
to us when we are alone saying that he had done right, 
that his course all along had been true and proper, 
and that he had no cause to regret anything. He 
must simply keep his eyes open, and at the same time 
not let his brain get rusty. Innocent people were in 
actual distress at that moment, and the girl of the 
trusting brown eyes, proud and brave, would soon be 
hungry. Hungry! The word stung his brain like 
something hot would sting the flesh, and he clicked 
his teeth and drew up his lines, urging his horse faster. 
He was passing a gloomy looking house set consider- 
ably off the road, surrounded by doleful firs and 
funereal cedars. It was of brick, square and not ugly, 
but the shutters to all windows visible were closed, 
and the front doors were inhospitably shut. Some 
gaunt dogs of ferocious breed were stalking about 
the yard. He had not noticed this house when coming 
out, but he might well have passed it unseeingly, all 
of his attention at that time being demanded by Mr. 
Hoonover. But instinctively he knew who lived there. 
The place savoured of its master; forbidding, grim, 
merciless. John was not sorry when it lay behind him. 

Deep twilight had come. The time when vague 
stars shine shyly, uncertain whether or not to show 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


141 


their faces. Objects along the roadside were becom- 
ing slightly blurred, and the unsightly things of the 
garish day were softened into pleasant lines and tones. 
The man riding townward felt the witchery of the 
hour. It entered into him and lay upon his soul, 
speaking of peace. He breathed more gently, and 
let his horse take its time. From the gates of the 
west which had unclosed to receive the going day, a 
breeze had surely blown from Paradise. And alone 
there, in the soft dusk, two faces rose up before the 
man. One was fresh, unfretted, appealing, beautiful, 
with brown eyes which looked innocence and trust. 
The one beside it Avas crowned with a bewildering 
glory of bronze-gold hair, full of sullen splendours, 
like a stormy sunset ; an oval face of perfect lines and 
charm ineffable, and wine}'^ eyes which lured. He 
looked upon the tAvo, and his eyes grew strained ; that 
look of awful Aveariness stole over his face, as though 
the battle were almost too hard, and he groaned in 
his throat while a shudder swept him, making him 
tremble from head to foot. He was conscious of a 
sound, far away, but growing more distinct. CUcIcety- 
clack! Click ety~clack! Click ety-clack! It was a 
horse on the highway ahead, running fast. Clickety- 
clack! Clickety-clack! It was just around the bend 
in front of him. In a dull way he drew his horse 
somewhat to one side. A huge black shape thundered 
into view, seemingly of mammoth proportions in the 
dim light. Straight to the middle of the road it 
clung, its hoofs striking fire at every leap, its rider 
making no effort to swerve it. Glenning called, and 


142 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


pulled his horse sharply aside. Horse and rider 
swept by, so close that the man’s knee brushed J ohn’s 
sleeve. In that fraction of a second their eyes met, 
and each recognized the other. But neither stopped. 
Marston rode on till his horse drew up quivering at 
his gate, and Glenning, a new, strange light in his 
eyes, drove on towards town. 

Arriving at the livery stable he inquired for Judge 
Colver. That gentleman lived in the country, and 
had gone home. He would have to make his report 
in the morning, when the people could be advised by 
bulletin of the presence of small-pox in the county, 
the proper quarantine established, and measures 
taken for preventing the disease from spreading. He 
suddenly remembered that, in the business of getting 
established, he had neglected opening the account at 
the bank, and had also forgotten his hotel bill. It 
was too late to keep his promise to Dillard that day, 
so he turned down street towards the hotel, resolving 
to settle his bill there. Supper was in progress when 
he entered the office, and the place was comparatively 
empty. He paid his reckoning to the smiling Jones, 
and was preparing to leave, when Travers came out 
of the passage leading to the hotel bar, and called 
his name. John turned, and coldly faced him. The 
landlord beckoned, and retreated to the passage. 
John hesitated a moment, for he desired no further 
dealings with this person, but upon second thought 
he followed. Travers’ nervous manner had returned. 
He fidgeted, and shifted his weight, and toyed with 
his watch chain. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


143 


“I want to tell you I have kept my word,” he said, 
in a low, cautious voice. “You played fair with me, 
and I have some appreciation. I went out to Mars- 
ton’s place this morning and told him all about it, to 
his face, and I told him what you said, word for word. 
I did, ’pon my honor!” 

“That’s more than I expected,” answered Glen- 
ning, icily. “But I admire your pluck. It took a man 
to do that.” 

“I did it, doctor, and for a while I thought he was 
going to kill me. But he didn’t touch me.” 

“I suppose he made some threats ?” 

“Yes, he talked mighty ugly about you. I’d advise 
you to be on your guard. You’d better carry a gun 
with you all the time.” 

“I’ve never carried a gun, and I don’t intend to 
begin now. I fancy I can take care of myself without 
that. Thank you, Mr. Travers. I’m glad you told 
me this. Good evening.” 

He had turned to go, when he heard his name 
spoken in an agitated whisper. He stopped, and 
faced about. 

“That ain’t all, doctor. You’ve done me a fine 
turn, and I want to break even.” 

“Well?” 

“Marston’s just left here. He’s been in the bar 
drinking for an hour or more, and he’s been talkin’ 
mighty reckless. It was about you, and he boasted 
he was going to make you sorry you ever came here — 
that he was going to run you out of town. He’d just 
been at the long distance telephone, and he said he’d 


144 


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found out something, and would know more tomor- 
row. He’d been drinking heavily, you know, and 
didn’t care what he said. He leaves on the early 
mornin’ train. I was standin’ close to that swingin’ 
door, and heard every word he said. He wasn’t 
talkin’ to anybody in particular — just easin’ himself. 
But he’ll hurt you if he can.” 

Glenning’s voice was very low as he asked — 

“Where is he going 

“To Jericho,” said Travers. 


CHAPTER IX. 


John slept very poorly that night. The news which 
Dan Travers had given him was enough to keep him 
awake. Marston was going to Jericho the next morn- 
ing! What would he bring back? What would he 
have to tell upon his return ? Ah, God ! could a man 
never escape the slightest misstep? Must it dog him 
to his grave, even though he had won through by days 
of anguish and hours of wrestling in the silent night? 
What a morsel this would be for vile tongues to 
handle ! What possibilities for enlargement, and op- 
portunities for misrepresentation I Haggard with 
wide-eyed watching as the black moments slowly 
passed — it was not new to him, this grim facing of 
an ever-present spectre — ^he managed to gain a few 
hours sleep just before day. But his cheek bones 
showed more plainly when he appeared upon the 
street the following morning, and the faint lines about 
his strong mouth had deepened. 

Pie found Judge Colver and made his report; there 
was a caucus of the board of health in Doctor Kale’s 
office; dodgers were ordered printed and distributed 
telling the fearsome news and instructing the public 
as to what sanitary measures they should employ to 
keep down the plague. The local physicians gave 
him respectful attention when he talked, and adopted 
his suggestions cheerfully. This was pleasant, but 


146 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


it did not lift the weight which had fallen upon him. 
When the business meeting was over, John found a 
piece of yellow cloth at one of the dry goods stores, 
armed himself with a supply of disinfectants, and 
started on his second trip to his pauper patient. 

He had a half formed notion when he left town to 
stop at the Dudleys for a moment, and when, driving 
somewhat slowly in front of the house, he saw Julia 
bending over gathering nasturtiums, his tentative idea 
became a fixed resolution. He left his horse at the 
gate, securing him to one of the iron palings, and 
went up the drive afoot. She had seen him coming, 
and she walked forward to meet him, her face tinting 
delicately, and a smile showing through the look of 
anxiety which she wore. She gave him a pliant palm, 
holding a huge armful of vari-coloured blooms to her 
breast with her other hand — ^the flowers spread out 
over her, a wonderful breast-plate of gorgeous hues. 
Some matched her cheeks, and some her lips, and some 
her throat, which had assumed a shy pink as she came 
within arm’s length of John, standing with hat breast 
high, and searching eyes. He took her hand and 
held it a moment longer than was necessary, but she 
waited until he released it, and made no effort to draw 
it away. He did not attempt to veil the candid ad- 
miration which beamed from his face. 

“You are looking very well this morning, if you 
will allow the compliment,” he said, gravely, and she 
quickly noted the weary note in his voice. “I’m sure 
this flower bed is the most fitting environment you 
could possibly have. You seem one of them.” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


147 


The blood rushed up in torrents at his words, and 
she turned scarlet. To hide all this she buried her 
face for a moment in the armful of nasturtiums. Her 
eyes were a-sparkle when she lifted her head at once, 
and said, reproachfully: 

“Why did you run away yesterday before any of 
us could see you.'^” 

“One saw me, and I left a message with him. It 
was too early for either you or your father to be up. 
Did Peter not tell you that all went well.'*” 

“Yes, he told us that, and I went down myself to 
look at The Prince. * * * Come here a moment. 

Doctor Glenning.” 

She crossed the drive with a faint swish of drapery, 
and walked across the lawn to the base of a large 
maple, not many yards from the front door of the 
mansion. Beneath this tree, resting against it, was 
an iron settee of ornamental design. Lying upon the 
settee was a large revolver. Julia picked it up, cocked 
as it was, and held it out, muzzle earthward. 

“I found this, too, inside under the window. It 
isn’t yours, is it.?” 

John recognized immediately the weapon he had 
wrested from the hand of Travers, and which he had 
neglected to procure before leaving the smoke-house. 

“No, it isn’t mine,” he replied, readily. 

“Peter said that you told him to say to us that 
nothing had happened.” 

“He did not quote me correctly. I told him to say 
that nothing of consequence had happened.” 

“Whose revolver is this. Doctor Glenning.?” 


148 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“It belongs to the man who came to shoot The 
Prince.” 

J ulia gave a little start, and uttered an involuntary 
exclamation. 

“You — ” she began, then stopped and looked at 
him, her breath coming faster. 

“I didn’t see any use in making a fuss about it, you 
see,” explained John, smiling. “Travers came, as 
we all knew he would, and I just waited and let him 
walk into the trap which Uncle Peter set when he cut 
that window, and baited when he led the colt in. 
That’s all there is to it.” 

“Let’s sit down,” suggested Julia. 

Then, side by side upon the settee, the revolver 
still in her hand, she resumed : 

“This is a fearful looking thing. Did he have 
this?” 

“Yes, that’s what he came hunting with near three 
o’clock in the morning. It would kill an elephant if 
properly handled.” 

“How did you happen to get possession of it?” 

“I see you must have the whole story,” said John, 
with his inimitable chuckle, and thereat he proceeded, 
very faithfully and very accurately, to recount the 
entire tale. 

Julia drew back in wonder as she listened. 

“And you held him !” she exclaimed, her eyes wide 
and her brows contracted in surprise. Doubtless 
she did not know it, but her gaze went sweeping over 
the man, from top to toe, and her mind was wonder- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


149 


ing where all that power was stored, for he was very 
lean, though wonderfully broad of shoulder. 

“Yes, it was easy, for I really took him at an unfair 
advantage, but it was the only way — that or nothing.” 

“Yes,” she said, but nothing more, for she could 
not understand him. But she knew there was a sweet 
feeling of security when he was near. He could do 
anything ; of that she was entirely confident. 

“There’s small-pox in the county,” said John, 
presently, with such sudden irrelevance that the girl 
half rose from her seat. 

“Where?” 

“Some paupers out this road — I don’t think you 
need be scared. I’m waiting on them.” 

“You !” 

“Yes, I’m a doctor, you know. Old Mr. Hoonover 
came in yesterday afternoon with the news, and I am 
constrained to believe that it was more a matter of 
personal interest with him than it was love for his 
neighbour. He lives close to them. * * * 

what’s worse than small-pox is the fact that I was 
compelled to strike Devil Marston yesterday after- 
noon on the streets of your town.” 

He rapidly detailed the encounter. Julia was all 
interest and concern, and hovered on his words eag- 
erly, yet with dread. 

“Travers told me last night that he’s gone to 
Jericho,” concluded Glenning. 

“What for?” 

“To try and ruin me. Miss Dudley !” 


150 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


John turned upon her with a face every lineament 
of which bespoke suffering and strength. 

“I came away from there, my friend, because had 
I stayed I would have gone to hell, along the broadest 
and most flowery of all the broad and flowery ways 
which lead there. My feet had turned in at that wide 
gate — God forgive me! — when all at once I awoke! 
I can’t tell you now — I have no right — ^but some day 
I will tell you, some day when we know each other 
better, and there’s nothing which makes for quick 
and understanding companionship like a common 
danger. We are each threatened, you the most, poor 
girl, for you cannot fight — ^but I have strength for 
two — ” he stopped, and shut his teeth. He had nearly 
gone too far. Then he leaned towards her and took 
one of her hands, crushing it in both of his almost 
roughly. The flowers fell in a gorgeous heap between 
them, strewing her lap with their fresh beauty. He 
looked steadily into her eyes, and she looked back 
into his, fearlessly and earnestly. 

“Trust me!” he said, in a strained voice. “Trust 
me! Believe in me! It will come to you! Devil 
Marston will not let his news suffer for want of 
garnishment — and you will hear! Am I asking too 
much to ask for your faith and trust It means 
much to me — now ! It means more to me than all of 
life, I believe — right now ! Will you do it? Will you 
believe in me.^ It is going to be a strong test. Miss 
Dudley. Answer me !” 

The situation was new and strange to the girl who 
had never known aught of life save that which the 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


151 


peaceful environs of home had disclosed. She knew 
nothing of the world — of its wickedness, trials and 
sins. She had never seen a strong man wrought up 
to a pitch like this ; she had never heard such words 
before, and now she but vaguely sensed their meaning. 
She knew that she was trembling, but she was not 
afraid, for cowardice did not run in her blood. She 
knew that her hand was aching under the force he 
had unconsciously put upon it. Her eyes beheld the 
melancholy shadows which dwelt perpetually in his ; 
she saw the fresh scars on his forehead and cheek 
where the burns had not yet healed — the singed hair. 
And back of it all she seemed to see his soul, suffering, 
but clean ! A half sob struggled in her throat. 

“I don’t know what you mean!” she said, with 
child-like candour which was almost pitiful. “But I 
know you are a man ! Nothing can change that opin- 
ion, Doctor Glenning. I do believe in you, and I have 
faith in you, and trust you 1” 

“Thank God!” he said, huskily, and released her 
hand. 

They sat without speaking for several minutes. 
Peter appeared upon the other side of the lawn, hoe 
in hand, diligently searching for any weeds which 
might have come up within the last few days. 

“Father is not very well this morning,” Julia be- 
gan, her hand straying absently among the scattered 
nasturtiums. “He fears a breakdown, and has been 
talking a great deal of his brother, my uncle Arthur, 
who went west before I was born, and from whom we 
haven’t heard for years. We don’t know whether 


152 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


he’s living or not, and this distresses father, for he 
says he would like above all things to see him now.” 

“That is strange. How long has it been since you 
had a letter.?” 

“Oh, many years. Not since I was quite a little 
girl.” 

“I’m sorry to hear the Major is indisposed. Try 
and keep him in a cheerful mood if you can. It won’t 
do for a man of his age to grow despondent. I fear 
these troubles which have come to him are the cause.” 

“Yes, he is so unlike himself. * * * I suspect 

I had better go to him now.” 

She arose and began gathering up her flowers. 
Glenning picked up a few which had fallen upon the 
ground, and gave them to her. 

“Won’t you come in.?” she asked. 

“Not this morning, thank you. Give Major Dud- 
ley my regards, and tell him I’ll call soon. I must go 
see my pauper now ; the poor fellow’s pretty sick.” 

He pressed her hand quickly and firmly and strode 
rapidly away. She went slowly towards the house, 
her head bent over the armful of flowers. Her 
thoughts were new, many and tumultuous, but they 
were not bitter. At the portico steps she remembered 
that this was the day when the town paper was issued. 
Ordinarily she cared little for what was going on in 
the vicinity, but now something made her turn and 
call to the old negro — 

“Uncle Peter, will you please go to town at once, 
and bring the mail.?” 

The old fellow retreated to put his hoe away, and 


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153 


Julia, casting a glance at a buggy now being driven 
briskly down the road, went in to her father. 

The Major was decidedly unwell. He was up and 
dressed, and was sitting in his favourite chair by the 
window. But his posture was not his own. Always 
erect hitherto, standing or sitting, this morning he 
slouched down in his chair, listlessly, and his shoul- 
ders had pulled forward. An expression almost of 
hopelessness was on his face, and Julia noticed, as 
she came quietly in, that there was no book in his 
hand. This fact, apparently trivial, worried her 
more than the dejected appearance her father pre- 
sented. For she did not remember of ever seeing him 
alone before when he did not hold a book; if he was 
not reading it he was nursing it. The girl quickly 
and noiselessly arranged the flowers in sundry vases 
and bowls, then came and knelt by her father’s side 
and took one of his passive, unresponsive hands. 

“Daddy, don’t you feel a little better.^” she pleaded. 

He did not look at her. His eyes were directed on 
the floor, and he merely shook his head slowly in 
answer to her solicitous query. 

“What is it, daddy dear.? Do you hurt anywhere.? 
Won’t you go to bed, or lie down on the couch and 
let me sit by you.?” 

The tender words from his beloved child roused 
the Major. He lifted his head and mechanically ad- 
justed his stock. Then he turned to her and placed 
his hand caressingly upon her brown hair. 

“Ah, little Julia! Little Julia!” 

That was all for several moments. He sat and 


154 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


looked at her for some time, and the love in his soul 
beatified his countenance. 

“I’m not sick,” he said, after a while. “That is, 
no doctor on earth could help me. It’s just the letting 
go, sweet daughter. I’m old, you must remember, 
and I can’t endure things nor fight as I once could. 
It has come in the last few days — I have seemed to 
crumble — to wither, and it has weighed me down hor- 
ribly. I should have risen above it. I do not care 
about myself ; my life is lived, but you, dear child — 
it is the thought of your future which fills me with 
alarm and well-nigh breaks my heart. I have no 
inheritance for you — I have nothing to leave you but 
poverty and danger. Don’t you understand.^” 

His voice was gravely tender as he spoke to her 
thus, and it made her heart ache, and the burning 
tears come to her lids. 

“Oh, daddy!” she cried; “you must be mistaken! 
You will — you must stay with me many years yet, 
for I could not get along without yom Tell me you 
will try — you know the mind has so much to do with 
the body. Brace up, daddy, for your Julia! You 
say you have no sickness ; then try and let your spirit 
be bright — for me! Won’t you.?” 

She arose, glided into his lap, curled one arm 
around his neck and kissed him on the forehead. 

“For such a daughter one should try very hard 
for life,” he replied, and the twinkle she had not seen 
for several days shone in his eyes. “I’m stricken, 
lassie, but I’ll promise you this: I’ll make the best 
fight of my life now, in its last days, and that shall 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


155 


be to stay with my precious little girl as long as I 
can. * * ^ Does that satisfy you, young miss 

The Major’s last words were almost gay, and 
Julia’s heart bounded with joy as she heard him 
speak in his old, brave way. It must be her constant 
duty to buoy him up and cheer him on. She smiled 
into his eyes happily, and asked him what book she 
should bring him. He mentioned a certain volume 
relating to archaeological research, which she at once 
procured, and seeing Peter coming up the drive she 
gave her father another caress and went out, almost 
tripping, for so quickly do we respond to conditions 
of joy or sadness. Peter bore nothing but the town 
paper, which he delivered with an obsequious bow, 
and immediately sought his hoe again. The lawn, 
next to The Prince, was his greatest pride, and some 
weeds were beginning to come up. 

’Julia sank down upon the portico step, and opened 
the still damp pages of the Herald. She tried to make 
herself believe that she was merely conning the col- 
umn bearing on local happenings and people of the 
town, but surely such disinterested employment as 
that would not bring the blood to her cheeks, nor an 
added sparkle to her ey^s. Directly she found that 
which she declared to herself she was not looking for, 
and which she read merely because she happened to 
see it. The item was in regard to the small-pox, and 
the attending physician. The Herald had some very 
nice things to say of the new doctor; in fact, he and 
his actions took up a goodly portion of so much of 
the Herald as was printed at home, because the fire 


156 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


had to be told of, with all things relating thereto. 
Truth to tell, Julia had never fully nor properly ap- 
preciated her town paper until this morning, when 
she found it brimming full of the most interesting 
news in the world. It seemed that John Glenning’s 
name appeared in nearly every paragraph. There 
was also a notice of his encounter with Devil Marston, 
and this was most adroitly written, the editor evi- 
dently not wishing to offened the rich bank president, 
and at the same time endeavouring to keep the friend- 
ship of Uncle Billy Hoonover, who had a large county 
connection, all of whom subscribed for the Herald, 
and paid for it promptly. The editor opined, in con- 
clusion, that it “was an unfortunate incident, and 
everyone hoped and believed it was now amicably 
settled.” 

But it was a news item on the other inside page 
which made the colour die out of the girl’s face as 
the clouds grow gray in the west after the sun is 
gone. It was a news item only, printed without com- 
ment, but a cold hand was laid upon Julia’s heart as 
she read on and on, down to the last bitter word, then 
sat crushed and shivering in the warm June sunshine. 
The item told of the passing of the bank dividend, 
giving in explanation the reasons which Marston had 
declared to the directors of the institution. She could 
scarcely believe it. It was their maintenance — ^their 
sole support. Without it was abject poverty, starva- 
tion. They could not live another month, to say 
nothing of six months, shorn of this income. Slowly 
her numbed mind came back to its normal state, and 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


157 


she tried to think it out. Why had it been done.? 
Did the item say.? Who had done it.? Were there 
any names given .? In a dazed way she lifted the paper 
which she had allowed to fall to the ground, and read 
the paragraph again. No names were given. “The 
directors deemed it necessary” because of the reasons 
which followed. She could not doubt its truth. She 
sat gazing in front of her, stunned, hopeless. Fate 
was surely unkind. Neither she nor her father merited 
treatment like this. Her spirit grew rebellious, al- 
most wicked. After a time Aunt Frances came to 
receive orders for dinner. “Anything you can find” 
was Julia’s reply, and she continued to gaze straight 
in front of her. A buggy passed, and its occupant 
lifted his hat, but she made no sign. She did not see 
the huggy, nor Glenning. He wondered that she did 
not return his salutation. Then he saw a newspaper 
crushed in her hand, and his active mind guessed the 
truth. He drove on with his heart seething at the 
injustic of it all, and his inability to help. 

The moments passed, and still Julia sat like a 
woman of stone, a look on her fresh young face which 
was piteous in its tragic helplessness. “Daddy must 
not know! Daddy must not know!” This one sen- 
tence coursed through her mind with each throb of 
her pulse, and its constant reiteration almost mad- 
dened her, for how could she hold the truth from 
him.? She saw nothing, not even the figure which 
presently laboured up the drive, wiping the streaming 
perspiration from its face as it came. Not till Dil- 
lard stopped in front of her, waiting to be recognized. 


158 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


did she lift her eyes to him, dully. But she said noth- 
ing. She felt as one who had suddenly come to the 
end of life, unexpectedly, in the heyday of his youth 
and happiness. 

“Good morning. Miss Julia,” said Dillard, “may 
I sit down.^ I can’t stay but a moment.” 

She brushed her skirts aside, and the young man 
took the seat made vacant by her movement. He was 
breathing hard, and had evidently come in a hurry. 
He, too, noted the paper, and he saw where it was 
opened. 

“It’s a bloomin’ shame. Miss Julia!” he blurted 
out, twirling his straw hat nervously between his 
hands. “You’ve read it, I know, and I’ve rushed out 
here at my dinner hour to tell you that it’s the mean- 
est trick I ever knew anybody to do, and — ” 

“Who did it .5” 

Her voice sounded hollow and old. 

“Who did it.'”’ he repeated. “Devil Marston did 
it! He did it just to spite you and the Major. We 
made the dividend, and two hundred and fifty dollars 
of it belongs to you, but Marston’s word is law in that 
bank. Oh, it’s a shame! I’ve come out here to let 
you know. I can’t do anything. Nobody can do 
anything, but I wanted you to know that it wasn’t 
the bank that played you false. It was Marston, and 
he did it to ruin you and your father! * * * j 

know I’m talkin’ plain to you, and I beg your pardon 
if I’m too outspoken, but I’ve known you a long time. 
Miss Julia, and we’ve been friends, in a way. I’d 
give my right hand to set matters right at the 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


159 


bank, but I can’t move an inch. Does the Major 
know?” 

“Father is not well, and this news must be kept 
from him,” she answered. “The paper — I will 
destroy it myself, now.” She began to tear it into 
strips, methodically. “It’s good of you to come, 
Tom, so good of you, and I’m grateful. I’m glad to 
know who was back of this crime — for it amounts to 
that as far as we are concerned. It has a bit gotten 
the best of me.” 

She stopped her occupation of shredding the 
Herald, and gazed pensively at the ground in front 
of her. Dillard’s round, baby-blue eyes dwelt upon 
her in a protectingly hungry way. His pudgy face 
showed his keen distress, and his fat hands toyed un- 
ceasingly with his hat. It was plain there was some- 
thing else he wanted to say, but he could not find the 
words in which to express himself. Then, too, the 
time was not propitious. If he had loved Julia Dud- 
ley silently and in a worshiping way for six years, 
he surely could love her that same way a few days 
longer, when he would come to her with the offer of 
his honest heart, and plead with her to come with him 
away from all the troubles which beset her. So he 
got to his feet rather awkwardly, dropping his hat 
as he did so, and remarked — 

“It’s hot as blazes today. Miss Julia. If I can do 
anything for you or the Major, call on me.” 

“Thank you, Tom. But I’m sorry to have been 
the cause of you coming ouf here in the sun at noon- 
day.” 


160 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“That doesn’t matter a fig. I felt that you would 
want to know, and I wanted to be the one to tell you. 
Good-bye ; I must be back by one.” 

He held a red, moist hand towards her. She 
smiled at him and took it with a few added words of 
appreciation, then Dillard was departing down the 
avenue with such dignity as his avoirdupois would 
allow, for he felt that the eyes of the girl were follow- 
ing his retreating form. Such was not the case, how- 
ever. Julia arose the instant her caller’s back was 
turned, gathered the streaming bits of paper into a 
tight wad in her two hands, and going to the kitchen, 
flung them in the stove. 

The rest of the day was a waking nightmare to the 
poor girl. She had nowhere to turn; there was no 
one to whom she could go and ask for advice or help. 
She dared not broach the fearful subject to her 
father, for his despondency would be sure to return, 
and it might be she could not raise him from it again. 
The blow had fallen upon tender shoulders, unused 
to the bearing of loads, but she did not murmur after 
the first flame of resentment had passed. She even 
brought herself to accept it as right, and all that 
afternoon Major Dudley saw no change in the smil- 
ing, sweet-voiced, bright-tempered being who flitted 
about him, attending to his wants or engaging him 
in light conversation. 

After tea the old gentleman seemed markedly im- 
proved, and readily retired at a rather early hour 
upon his daughter’s suggestion. Then, when she knew 
he was asleep, the desolate girl stole out upon the lawn. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


161 


down to the spot where that morning she and Glen- 
ning had sat, and throwing herself upon the settee, 
she sobbed and cried for nearly an hour. It was 
awful — awful ! and she was so helpless ! Then bitter 
despair seized her and she prayed to die. She asked 
God to take her with her father and not leave her 
alone to fight these strange and awful battles with 
the world. When her grief and terror had spent 
themselves in tears she grew calmer, and still lying 
prone and motionless, strove to think of a way out. 
The problem was set for her. Could she solve it.^ 
She thought, and thought, and in time her thinking 
brought results. Marston had done this ; then Mars- 
ton alone could undo it. The money was theirs; he 
was stealing it from them. What then? Was there 
no law to protect the innocent? She did not know, 
but she presumed there wasn’t, in this case. There 
was but one way, and that was a horrible one. She 
must go to Devil Marston in person, and demand that 
which was her right. Insist that he revoke his cruel 
order to pass the dividend, and compel him, if she 
could, to have it declared yet. She sat up as she 
reached this conclusion, a strange thrill swe;eping 
through her. It would be terrible to go to this man, 
this being whose nature was a composite of many 
dreadful and evil strains. But she would go — she 
knew it on the moment — and she would go quickly. 
Tomorrow morning, as soon as she could slip away 
from the Major, she would make the venture. It was 
the only chance to escape genteel starvation. There 
could be little doubt that he would be at home. He 


162 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


was seldom gone longer than a day at a time. Doctor 
Glenning had told her that he went away that very 
morning. Would he return that night.? She must 
know. She would sit up for the train from Jericho. 
It did not come until eleven, or thereabouts, but she 
was not sleepy, and she loved the calm, mysterious 
nights in summer. The time sped swiftly. Some of 
the thoughts which came to her chilled her very heart ; 
some brought anxiety and worry, and some filled her 
virgin soul with strange, elusive whisperings ; pre- 
monitory warnings of something wonderfully sweet. 
If she dwelt upon these most; if her mind’s eye saw 
beside her at times in the starlight a long shape, lean 
of limb and lean of face, with eyes constantly filled 
with troubled shadows, but true and unfaltering — 
who would say her nay.? For the approach of love 
is a beautiful mystery, fraught with emotions which 
frighten while they charm, which awe while they in- 
spire, and there is no more sacred or precious time 
in a young girl’s life than that when her soul quickens 
in response to the summons of love. 

So preoccupied was she that Julia barely heard the 
shriek of the express from the north as it thundered 
into the station in Macon. But the sound of the 
whistle recalled her to herself — made her remember 
why she was sitting there. It was hard to give up 
dreams for reality. But she faced the road and 
pressed her lips together, and waited. She heard the 
train pull out and resume its journey southward; its 
rumble became fainter and fainter and was lost in the 
distance. Then she fell to listening for another sound 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


163 


which she dreaded, yet hoped to hear. She wanted 
him to return that night. She wanted the fearful 
task over and done while her courage was high. She 
was perfectly aware that nothing short of desperation 
could have driven her to this determination. She felt 
it of the utmost importance that he should return that 
night. But the minutes passed, and he did not come. 
A vehicle went by, and later a horse at a canter. 
Neither of these was Devil Marston. She did not 
need the aid of light to tell her when he rode by. The 
air began to grow a little chilly. She had come out 
without wrap of any kind, and all at once she realized 
her imprudence. She arose with a slight shiver, and 
stood for a moment with head inclined attentively. 
What was it.^ Hoofs She held her breath and 
waited. An indistinguishable sound was on the air. 
It was lost; it came again faintly. Then suddenly 
it burst upon her ears unmistakably — the noise of a 
horse running at breakneck speed. She shuddered 
involuntarily, but tarried yet a moment longer to be 
sure. Then he passed in his whirlwind way — she 
heard again that sound in the night which never 
failed to bring terror to her heart — and then she 
went in and locked the door and went up to her room. 
She had grown calm. She was surprised at her own 
coolness, and the deliberateness with which she went 
about her preparations to retire. Even when she 
opened her bureau drawer and took therefrom a pearl- 
handled, thirty-two caliber revolver, she was not 
stirred. Her father had given it to her on her six- 
teenth birthday, and had taught her how to use it. 


164 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


She could shoot straight. She even smiled as she laid 
it down in front of the mirror, after breaking it to see 
that its chambers were full. Her adventure in the 
morning would be fraught with danger, and the re- 
volver which she knew so well how to handle should 
go with her when she made her call on Devil Marston. 


CHAPTER X. 


That night John Glenning sat alone in his office 
with a letter spread out on the table before him. 
Something had come to pass which he could not 
understand; which had plunged him in a maze of 
incredulity in spite of visual evidence. The letter 
had come that afternoon — had been forwarded to him 
from Jericho — and he had taken it from the post- 
office upon his return from his second visit to Dink 
Scribbens. The letter was dated and post-marked 
New York City, and read as follows: 

“John Glenning, Esq., 

Jericho, Ky. 

Dear Sir — The death of our client, and your uncle, 
John Glenning, on the 14th inst., reveals the fact that 
one of his life insurance polices was executed with 
you as beneficiary. Proofs of his death having been 
properly forwarded to the company by us, we are 
this day in receipt of a draft for $2000, payable to 
your order. Find said draft enclosed. Please ac- 
knowledge receipt. 

Yours truly, 

Benner & Locke, Attorneys.” 

This letter, with the draft beside it, lay upon his 


[ 166 ] 


166 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


table in the light of a lamp none too clean. Letter 
and draft had been lying there for about an hour 
and a half, and a coatless, tumbled-haired, hunted- 
e3"ed man had been sitting in front of them for the 
same length of time, alternately fingering the thin 
piece of paper which represented two thousand dol- 
lars, and staring at the larger sheet, with its short, 
business-like message. Many men would have re- 
joiced wildly at this piece of good luck, and it may 
be told in a whisper here that few could have needed 
it worse than the one to whom it had come. But it 
had a quieting and peculiar effect upon the new doc- 
tor. Parents he had none. An older married sister 
lived in Missouri. He had fought prett^r hard since 
he was sixteen, hugging honour and truth to his heart 
as priceless possessions in the great struggle before 
him. He did not come of wealthy folks, nor even 
well-to-do. They were poor, but were people of 
quality. Misfortune came, such as may come to the 
best, and so the death of each parent was hastened. 
Yes, he had an uncle John. He was named for this 
relative. He had seen him only once or twice in his 
life. He had heard his father speak of him as a 
crotchety, peculiar person, who all his life long did 
the most unexpected things. He lived in New York, 
but had never married, and never amassed money. 
This freak he exhibited in privately taking out life 
insurance in favour of his namesake was characteris- 
tic. Possibly that accoun.ted for it — the name. John 
didn’t know. He had never seen this uncle since he 
had been grown. Once he was tempted to write to 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


167 


him and ask him to give help in getting him (John) 
through college, but he had refrained from writing 
this letter. He had, instead, written one telling of 
his struggles, and how he knew he would get through. 
To this he received no reply of any kind. So John 
had put this strange relative out of his mind, and 
had scarcely given him a thought in years. And 
now, behold how he had misjudged him! The proof 
of his love for his brother’s child was here, silent, but 
convincing. 

How good it was to take this first upward step 
towards independence! With a balance like this in 
the Macon National Bank the people would have 
greater respect for him; practice would come if he 
was diligent and attentive, and — Suddenly his eyes 
set, and an undefinable look settled upon his face. 
At first it seemed dismay, unbelief, then through 
varying gradations of emotion the changing features 
passed until firm resolve was fixed upon them, mingled 
with an expression of acute happiness which was 
almost painful. Then he got up, the first time in 
two hours, slipped the edge of a book over the 
precious draft as a weight, and crossing his arms on 
his chest fell to walking up and down. A smile had 
crept to his sensitive lips, and a musing, tender gleam 
to his eyes. It was plain his thoughts sat well with 
him. Up and down, with measured tread he walked, 
minute after minute. He was laying a plan, and if 
it involved deception it evidently did not disturb his 
conscience. When he at length resumed his chair, 
put his elbows on the table edge, and ran the long 


168 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


fingers of each hand through the hair above his ears, 
he appeared nearer absolute content than at any 
time since he had come to Macon. 

The night was hot, the lamp almost touching him 
was hotter, but he did not know it. He did not know 
that perspiration was streaming from his forehead, 
and that the backs of his hands were beaded with 
moisture. It was no time for such small physical 
concerns. He was lifted up. He was above such 
trivial things as heat and cold, hunger and thirst. 
He had known in that hour the first sweet joy-pangs 
of sacrifice! The way was not all clear; only the 
beginning was plain. But he would light the entire 
road by the might of his will, if it took till morning. 
He had accomplished tasks of lesser import by setting 
his head to them; this paramount problem he would 
make his own. He did not hear the passing on the 
street, though both his windows were up as high as 
they could go. But when a tolerably heavy step be- 
gan to ascend the stair he looked up almost with a 
scowl. He didn’t want any callers that night. It 
was one night in his life when he wanted to be let 
alone. If some one was sick — there were other doc- 
tors I At any other time he would have welcomed the 
approach of a possible patient, but now his whole 
being rebelled against the leisurely oncomer. Would 
he never get up the steps I Another moment young 
Dillard came dragging into the room with his hands 
m his pockets, glanced about for a chair, and finding 
none, perched his bulk upon the end of the table, and 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


169 


sighed. John rose and shoved the chair towards him 
viciously. 

“Sit down !” he growled. 

“Damn if somethin’ ain’t got to be done !” was the 
rather peculiar response, and Dillard looked almost 
scared when he said it, for it is doubtful if he ever 
swore before in his life. 

“What’s the matter.?” queried John, quelling his 
choler as he suddenly realized that his visitor was the 
only person in town who might be able to assist him 
in the work he had mapped out for that night. 

“Matter! Don’t you know that both Major and 
Miss Julia’ll be dead in four weeks unless we can put 
our heads together to some purpose.? I was out there 
today, between twelve and one, and I found her sittin’ 
on the front steps huddled over that Herald like a 
bird with a broken wing. She’d just read what that — 
that devil had done, and she was crushed, man, liter- 
ally crushed!” 

Dillard’s voice rose with his anger, and he slid to 
his feet, his blue eyes blinking and blazing, and his 
round fists clenched till the knuckles showed white. 
Glenning, in striking contrast, stood disheveled by 
the lamp, the angles of his face strongly outlined and 
his hair falling over his forehead. One hand rested 
on the table, the other lightly on his hip. 

“It was a terrible sight, doctor — a terrible sight! 
I shan’t forget it if I live to be a thousand. There 
she was, a girl, alone, for she told me the Major was 
sick and she couldn’t tell him. Alone, I say, to bear 


170 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


unaided this villain’s hellish blow. Innocent, mis- 
treated, helpless, but brave! We’ve got to do it, 
doctor, you and I; we’ve got to find a way — do you 
hear?” 

Almost beside himself with love and rage, Dillard 
strode up and shook his fist in his new friend’s face, 
forgetting, no doubt, that Glenning shared his views. 

“Yes, we’ve got to find a way, Dillard,” repeated 
John, in even tones, and he looked down at the table 
where the papers lay. 

“Then how, how, I say?” demanded his caller, 
furiously. “It’s got to be done quickly— at once! 
Major hasn’t ten dollars in bank, and "Marston’s 
positive orders are he shan’t overdraw !” 

“No, he shan’t overdraw,” again repeated John, 
and his gaze was still downcast. 

“Then how in hell are you goin’ to manage it?” 

Dillard’s religious training was slipping away in 
the stress of the moment. 

John went into his reception room and came back 
with another chair. This he placed on the other side 
of the table and occupied, motioning his friend to 
draw up to the spot where he had formerly sat. When 
Dillard, fuming and wrathful, had done so, he again 
fired the query: 

“How are you goin’ to do it?” 

“This way,” answered John, and he quietly picked 
up the draft and laid it between Dillard’s hands. 

The bank clerk’s fingers closed upon the paper, 
and when he had read the wording on its face, simple 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


171 


amazement and a total lack of comprehension was re- 
flected from his flushed countenance. 

“What’s this got to do with it.?” he asked, almost 
petulantly. “This is to you — this is your money.” 

“It’s my money tonight. The question is, how can 
we make it Major Dudley’s money without them, or 
anyone else, suspecting anything.?” 

Tom’s mouth came open, and he lifted baffled eyes 
to the face before him. 

“You mean — this money — what do you mean, any- 
way, doctor.?” 

Glenning merely repeated his last speech, enunci- 
ating it more clearly. 

Dillard sank back in his chair, a nerveless mass. 

You mean you’re goin’ to give them this money!” 
he gasped; “this little fortune!” 

John’s arm shot out across the table, and his slim 
fingers twined about the soft hand which lay there, 
inert. 

“See here, Tom Dillard !” he said, earnestly. “You 
say you are a friend to these people. I believe you, 
or I’d never have taken you into my confidence. I’m 
their friend, too, and Fate has said that I shall be 
the one to bring relief to them in their present pre- 
dicament. Promise me to work with me, now, to the 
perfecting of some plan, and to keep all this a secret 
to your dying day! Promise, boy, and then we’ll 
plot !” 

“Yes, I promise !” replied Dillard, in an awed 
voice. “But are you sick, or crazy, or — ” 


172 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Neither. I’ve nothing. Let that alone. It has 
nothing to do with this.” 

A dull flush was on the speaker’s face. 

“Then — ” began Dillard, but he stopped, reddened, 
and glanced aside. In that moment jealousy was 
added to his other worries. He had never supposed 
for an instant that Doctor Glenning was in love with 
Julia Dudley. The idea was silly, for their acquaint- 
ance had been limited to a few days. But what did 
this mean ? His mind was not preternaturally acute ; 
in fact, he was rather dull than bright, but a simple- 
ton would have cause to suspect something when a 
man, himself almost penniless, was willing to sacriflce 
a considerable sum of money in order that a destitute 
old man and his lovely daughter should not suffer 
humiliation and hunger. It was possible for this act 
to be one of pure philanthropy, but even Dillard’s 
slow-moving intellect could not see it in that light. 
It simply meant that another man had found and 
appreciated this sheltered flower of womanhood that 
he had watched grow, and bud, and bloom, and that 
she had aroused in this other man a passion akin to 
his own. These thoughts traveled with unusual 
rapidity through Dillard’s brain, the while his com- 
panion sat with head thrust forward, watching him. 

“Then — what.?” queried Glenning. “What were 
you going to say.?” 

“What are you doing this for.?” 

“What would you do it for, if you could.?” 

“Friendship for the family,” was the somewhat 
sullen reply. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


173 


“Friendship fiddlesticks!” retorted John. “You’d 
do it for no such reason, but for that sweet girl- 
woman in distress !” 

He brought his fist down on the table as he said 
this so that the lamp jumped and the blaze shot up 
the chimney, and glared defiance at the man across 
from him. 

Dillard’s heart seemed trying to pump the blood 
through his skin, but he only looked at John as 
though he had been addressed in Arabic or Chinese. 

“There’s no use side-tracking the truth,” resumed 
Glenning. “We’ve agreed to work together in a 
common cause, and do it as friends who trust each 
other. There can be no good work nor full trust 
where there is concealment. I know you love Miss 
Dudley — why shouldn’t you! So own up, and let’s 
get to business !” 

“I’ve loved her for six years !” Dillard said, the 
words struggling through a tight throat. “But I’ve 
never told anyone before, not even her. I’d give ten 
years from the other end of my life to have this 
check, instead of you ! * ♦ * I’ve told you the 
truth; you do the same,” he added, with a sort of 
eagerness mixed with dread. 

“That’s fair. This is the truth. I’ve never met 
a more lovely character or beautiful face in a woman. 
I’ve been drawn towards her strongly — so strongly — 
almost irresistibly. It must be the rare and indefina- 
ble charm of her personality; her pure, sweet, un- 
sullied nature. She is entirely unlike any other 
woman I have ever known.” A shadow of pain came 


174 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


and went from his mouth unobserved by the one to 
whom he was talking. “You want to know if I love 
her, and I tell you truly, Tom Dillard, so help me God, 
I don’t know ! But I’ll say this in all candour : were 
it not for her I’d never turn this money over to Major 
Dudley. Now you may think me a liar if you wish, 
but that is as near the truth as I can come tonight. 
Now we find ourselves back to the business in hand. 
A mutual exchange of confidence is good. I really 
fear I am drifting on the shoals, old fellow, but I’m 
not near enough to them to declare it positively. Are 
you satisfied.^” 

A grayish pallor had settled on Dillard’s face as 
John talked. 

“If you go in it’s all up with me,” he said, despond- 
ently. “But we’ll play fair.” 

The eyes which he lifted were honest and straight- 
forward. 

“You’re a man, Dillard; shake hands!” said John. 

They did, in a firm grasp. 

“Now to business,” resumed the speaker, pro- 
ducing a black briar pipe and filling it slowly from 
a “hand” of natural leaf which lay on the top of his 
desk. “You’re a banker, Dillard. How’s a fellow to 
transfer money to another fellow and not let the 
other fellow nor anyone else in the world know any- 
thing about it.^” The round face before him broke 
into a smile, at the same time becoming thinly veiled 
by the smoke of a light cigar. 

“That takes me back to school,” he answered. “It 
sounds exactly like one of those puzzle problems in 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


175 


arithmetic which I used to sweat and groan over. 
It’s about as hard, too, don’t you think 

“Harder, by far. It seems impossible on the face 
of it, but it must be done. You’re the banker; you 
can’t expect me to teach you your business. I’ll give 
you half an hour to solve it. In the meantime I’ll 
be thinking, too, just for mind culture.” 

“You’d better think of something closer to hand, 
for I’ll never unriddle it.” 

“Not another word for half an hour!” commanded 
John, placing his open watch upon the table between 
them. “We’ll pass this night in silence periods of 
thirty minutes duration each, then have five minutes 
recess after each, unless one or the other has solved 
the great question. It is now ten-thirty. * * * 

Aren’t you sorry you came in ? — To work I” 

He tilted his chair, elevated his heels to the other 
end of the table, let the long-stemmed pipe sink be- 
tween his two hands, and lapsed into a meditative 
silence. 

Dillard kept his feet on the floor, probably be- 
cause of his extra amount of flesh, and likewise 
endeavoured to think. Just as the first half hour 
was up the figment of a tenable plan floated into 
Glenning’s brain. 

“How goes it.?” he asked, squinting across at the 
placid face of his friend. 

“Slow. You’re right ; it’s worse than arithmetic.” 

“I’ve started,” announced John, quietly elated. 
“Give me another thirty minutes, and I believe, I can 
let you go home.” 


176 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Proceed,” was the laconic reply, and again 
silence. 

Glenning, searching desperately about in his mind, 
had really hit upon an entirely feasible way to carry 
out his idea. The project quickly developed as he 
brought his brain into active service, and long before 
the time he had asked for had expired, it was all 
clear, and ready to his hand. 

“There’s no use wasting further time in reflection, 
my boy,” said John, suddenly lowering his feet and 
swinging around. “Listen, and I’ll a tale unfold.” 

“I’m listening. You’re a wonder if you’ve got it 
straight.” 

“There’s not a hitch in the whole thing. Here’s 
my plan. I can’t write my name on the back of this 
piece of paper, walk in your bank and request the 
teller to place it to the credit of Maj or Dudley. That 
would cause comment, and Major Dudley w*ould 
naturally and rightly refuse to touch a cent of it. 
And I would be in bad odour with them and the com- 
munity. My plan is to make Major Dudley deposit 
this money himself.” 

He stopped for a moment to enjoy the look of un- 
disguised curiosity and blank amazement on Dillard’s 
face. 

“Now I know something of the family history, in 
spite of the fact that I have but recently become a 
citizen of the town. There was a brother, you per- 
haps know this also, who went west many years ago, 
and disappeared soon after. They suppose he died 
long ago, and very likely he did, but for our pur- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


177 


poses we will say he died last week. He was on his 
way back to Kentucky, to see his brother once more 
in the flesh. He reached St. Louis, and was taken 
ill. His sickness assumed a malignant turn, and he 
realized that he must die. He sent for a reliable 
lawyer, who happened to be my college friend and 
chum. Will Porter. While not attaining riches, this 
brother, Arthur Dudley, had something over two 
thousand dollars in cash with him. The surplus was 
enough for his board, doctor bill, lawyer fee and 
burial expenses, and he had Porter purchase a draft 
with the two thousand left, payable to his brother in 
Kentucky. This draft Porter forwarded to Major 
Dudley, with a brief letter explaining all the circum- 
stances. Now if you don’t think I’m a first-class 
rascal with a long head for schemes I don’t know 
why. Can you And a flaw in this skein of base 
duplicity 

Dillard rose to his feet and slowly shook his head. 

“You’re a marvel. You’ve got' it. When are you 
going to do this.?” 

“Tonight. Now. We’ll have to explain the whole 
thing to Porter, but he’s true as steel, and will do his 
part without fail. Two days for my letter to go to 
St. Louis; two for his to get back. Major and Miss 
Dudley will be relieved of their financial embarrass- 
ment the fourth day from tomorrow!” 

John took a pen and endorsed the draft to the order 
of his western friend in a Arm, bold hand, free from 
flourishes. 

Ten minutes later Dillard was gone, and by the 


178 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


light of a smoky lamp a man sat driving a pen fran- 
tically across sheet after sheet of paper. He had to 
make things plain, or Porter would think his mind 
had gone wrong. He wrote feverishly, and soon the 
message was done, sealed and addressed, with the 
draft inside. He looked at the envelope for several 
moments fixedly, then suddenly he sighed, cast his 
arms across the table and let his face fall in them, his 
laced fingers writhing and an inarticulate prayer 
falling from his lips. The old phantom had returned, 
even as he wrote — that dread night visitant which had 
robbed him of so many hours of sleep, and planted 
gray streaks about his temples. It came tonight with 
its eyes of languor and its scented hair and its smile 
of temptation — ^to drag him back! Its power was 
awful; its presence so real. Would not his present 
act be some expiation for his past weakness.^ Would 
it not serve to help banish this haunting vision which 
still sought to claim him ? 


CHAPTER XI. 


Julia slept soundly and sweetly, but awoke early 
and arose at once. It was an awful thing — this sud- 
den transition from carefree, blissful girlhood into 
woman’s estate, with the attending hardships and 
strange trials which she had to face. Her plan of 
action for that morning was not at all clear. She 
merely knew that she was going to face a desperate 
and wicked man who had wofully mistreated her and 
her father. She conceived this to be her duty, and 
there was no shrinking or hanging back in her soul 
when she thought of it. But as she combed her hair 
into place and put on a flowered muslin — she could 
not wear her riding habit, because her expedition 
must be kept from her father — she did not know what 
she would do, or say, when she came before Devil 
Marston. Her face grew hot as she thought of the 
swiftly approaching encounter, but this only height- 
ened her unusual beauty. That moment, for the first 
time in her life, she wished that she was plain. Her 
beauty had not brought her love or happiness, but 
had cursed her instead with the obnoxious attentions 
of a beast in the shape of a man. Concealing the re- 
volver in the folds of a light wrap, she went do^wn 
stairs. The Major had not risen. Swiftly she passed 
through the library and dining-room, and entered the 


[ 179 ] 


180 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


kitchen. Aunt Frances’ fat person was bustling 
about, and breakfast was in preparation. 

“Good morning, Aunt Frances !” said Julia, cheer- 
ily; “where’s Uncle Peter?” 

“Mawnin’, missus — whar he alius is ’cep’n’ w’en 
he’s sleepin’ — foolin’ roun’ dat colt ob a Prince!” 

There was a degree of asperity in the old colored 
lady’s speech, coupled with an ominous shake of the 
head. But Julia had been accustomed to the family 
difficulties upon which Peter and Aunt Frances 
throve, since infancy, and she paid no heed to the 
present demonstration of a ruffled temper. 

“Thank you,” she answered, sweetly. “I want to 
see him, so I’ll run down to the smoke-house.” 

She passed onto the small kitchen porch as she said 
this, and here the old negress’ voice halted her. There 
was a protesting, plaintive, sad inflection in the one 
word — 

“Missus?” 

Julia stopped and turned abruptly, vaguely 
alarmed. 

“Yes, Aunt Frances?” 

“Missus, de flour bar’l done gone plum’, clean 
em’ty; de side meat goes dis mawnin’ foh breakfus’, 
’n’ de meal bar’l ain’ much bettuh. I done kotch a 
chick’n foh dinner yistiddy, but de Mass a lub his 
biscuit breakfus’, dinner, en suppuh !” 

“You ai’e right to tell me when things get low,” 
she answered bravely, but in a peculiarly low voice. 
“I’ll send Uncle Peter into town with an order this 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


181 


morning. Be careful not to let the flour run out 
completel3’^ again.” 

“Bress dat chile !” exclaimed Aunt Frances, lifting 
the corner of her apron to her eye as Julia disap- 
peared. “I wonduh ef she finks she’s foolin’ her ol’ 
mammy.? Hain’t I lived heah always, ’n’ hain’t I seen 
dis house go down ’n’ down ’twell now hit mos’ tech 
rock bottom ? Some’in’s gwi’ drap, sho ! But me ’n’ 
Peter’ll be hyar w’en it comes !” 

She tossed her turbaned head, and, stanch old 
Methodist that she was, began crooning a “ ’vival” 
tune, wherewith to bolster up her sinking courage. 

Julia came to a standstill in the smoke-house door- 
way. Within, with his back to her, stood Peter. A 
currjxomb was in one hand, and a brush in the other. 
He had evidently come to a halt while making The 
Prince’s morning toilet, to spend a few moments in 
silent contemplation and admiration. He had with- 
drawn several feet from the satin-sleek form of the 
young colt, and reposed in an attitude of adoration, 
his skinny, ridged neck stretched towards the object 
of his devotion. Julia was compelled to speak his 
name twice before he heard her. Then he turned with 
his customary profound bow, and greeted her defer- 
entially. 

“Uncle Peter, I want The Prince this morning,” 
she said, coming straight to the point, for she knew 
too well the old fellow’s garrulousness to attempt 
circumlocution. He would have kept her there till 
noonday. 


182 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Now this was the first time Julia had ever said she 
would ride The Prince, and the wilfully deafened ears 
of Peter refused to recognize this first declaration. 

“Mom — missus — mom.?” he ejaculated, bending 
slightly from the waist and looking up at her keenly 
and suspiciously. “D’3"e say de Prince look well dis 
mawnin’.? ’Deed he do! He’s had he breakfus’ ’n’ a 
good rub down — not quite finished, though. I’s 
tekkin’ a breathin’ spell w’en you come. Hahd wuk 
foh an’ ol’ nigguh gittin’ de duht ’n’ stuff off’n a 
hoss w’en he’s slep’ in it. ’Sense me, missus, ’n’ I’ll 
finish wid ’im now I” 

Peter was sly and Peter was jealous. He heard 
plainly enough what his mistress had said, but he 
could not bear to think of the colt leaving his sight, 
even for a short time. His subsequent harangue was 
given simply to cause his mistress to forget her idea, 
or to forego its execution. He now approached the 
colt and began a vigorous attack upon its flank and 
hind legs, where there was no particle of dirt, and no 
hair out of place. 

“Uncle Peter!” called Julia, firmly, “did you not 
hear me.?” 

“Yas’m’ ; I heah yo’, missus !” he replied, between 
grunts. “I’s proud you’s pleased wid de way de 
Prince looks. Oh ! he’s peart, let me tell yo’ !” 

“Come here. Uncle Peter ; come to me !” 

He could not disobey the direct summons. He 
straightened up with a groan and a wry face, partly 
feigned and partly caused by a “ketch” from rheu- 
matism, and shuffled forward. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


183 


“I said I wanted The Prince this morning,” re- 
peated Julia, quite positively, “and I meant it. I 
shall want him for perhaps an hour — certainly not 
longer. It does not matter that I have never ridden 
him. I have ridden real vicious horses before father 
sold his racers, and this colt is gentle, and we are 
friends besides. He knows me — see him looking at 
me now? — Good morning. Prince !” 

She smiled and waved her hand at the intelligent 
face turned towards her. 

“Now, Uncle Peter,” she resumed, “listen to 
me, and pay attention to what I say. I’m going to 
ride down the road for a short distance this morning, 
and I don’t want anyone to know about it, not even 
father, or Aunt Frances. Can I trust you, Uncle 
Peter, to keep this secret with me?” 

“ ’Deed yo’ kin, missus ; ’deed yo’ kin !” 

“I thought so. Dudleys don’t lie, and you are a 
Dudley, Uncle Peter, always remember that! When 
you give me your word, I trust you as I would any- 
one else. I want you to bridle and saddle The Prince 
at once — you know where my saddle is hung. Then 
take him through the back lot and the side meadow 
around to the road. DonH lead him down the drive. 
It is very necessary that my father should know noth- 
ing of this. You must stay with The Prince until I 
come, which will be soon, immediately after break- 
fast. Do you understand now, and can I rely upon 
you ?” 

“ ’Deed I do, missus ; ’deed yo’ kin I I’ll fotch de 
sad’l ’n’ tek ’im right roun’ to de road I” 


184 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Be careful that no one from the house sees you; 
hurry, now.” 

Upon her return she found breakfast ready, and 
the Major waiting for her. He gave her a morning 
kiss with his old air of doting pride, and the quick 
look with which she surveyed him told her that he 
was in excellent spirits, but whether feigned or real 
she could not tell. When the meal was over the Maj or 
settled himself in the library with a book, and Julia’s 
chance had come. She dared not wait a moment. 
Already her heart misgave her as she realized to the 
full all that she was about to undertake. Charged 
with a subdued excitement which shone in her eyes 
and glowed on her cheeks, she put on a hat, found 
her gloves, and secreting the weapon as she walked, 
she left the house by way of the long side porch and 
sought her rendezvous with Peter. He was waiting 
for her like a faithful Arab, with one arm over the 
neck of his charge. She whispered a few added words 
of caution to the mystified old servitor, mounted, and 
started slowly down the road. The distance was 
short, and she wanted to have herself well in hand, 
and decide upon the best method in which to approach 
this enemy to her house. 

It was a bright June morning. The air was balmy 
and fresh and invigorating; it came to her nostrils as 
the very essence of life from the earth’s great labora- 
tory, and it gently lifted the curls which clung about 
her forehead and neck. The sun had not gathered 
its full power; its rays blessed while they did not 
burn. The dense foliage of the roadside trees rustled 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


185 


gently, showering down upon her an elfin song of 
gladness. All nature was a-thrill with the joy of 
living, and only this poor little human seemed sad 
and out of tune. The Prince, too, felt the call of the 
new day. His pointed ears were up and attentive to 
every sound; his neck was arched, and his nostrils 
stretched to the sweet waves of air. It was with some 
difficulty his rider succeeded in holding him down to 
a walk. He longed to run — to race with the morning, 
for this was his breeding through a long, long line of 
ancestors. To feel the keen wind in his face, to have 
it rushing past his ears and plucking at his mane 
and dashing in his eyes ; to know the earth was reel- 
ing beneath his flying hoofs and that nothing could 
gain a place in front of him! But his rider kept a 
firm hold on the reins, and pursued her way in a walk. 
She would reach her destination soon enough. How 
she wished the interview was over and done, and she 
was now on her return trip I She believed she would 
have let The Prince run, then. The road took a turn 
a few rods in advance. She knew the place. When 
she had rounded that bend the house of Devil Mars- 
ton would be in view. She shut her eyes as she neared 
it, and breathed a little prayer for strength and 
guidance. 

As the sombre brick pile burst on her sight her face 
grew white, and she felt a chill of absolute terror 
settling over her. She told herself fiercely that this 
would never do — that a contained presence and visible 
courage she must have, or assume, as they would be 
invaluable allies in the success of her scheme. The 
thought of her old father, almost helpless, and the 


186 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


cruel wrong they had each sustained, brought a sud- 
den flood of resentment, and borne on this same cur- 
rent was self-possession and assurance. She turned 
off the highway directly in front of the gloomy-look- 
ing house girt with funereal cedars, and came to a 
farm gate, loosely hung, and sagging. It was hard 
work for her to drag it open from the saddle suffi- 
ciently wide for The Prince to pass through, but she 
managed it in time, conscious that the exertion had 
brought the rich colour back to her face. A rutty, 
unkept road led towards the yard fence, where it 
swerved around the corner and went on towards the 
stables. But there was a small gate in the fence, 
which, while not intended for the use of horsemen, 
J ulia rode through. It was a dreary place into which 
she had come. There was no pavement or walk of 
any sort going up to the front of the house. The 
yard was covered with some rank and worthless 
variety of grass, which was tangled and long. 
Bushes, shrubs, all run wild, and an occasional flower 
which had come up by chance, were dispersed about. 
The flowers seemed sickly and afraid to grow, as 
though they had made a mistake in attempting life 
amid such surroundings, and wished to bloom and 
die and be done with it as quickly as possible. The 
cedars were nearer the house, and created a doleful, 
grave-yard-like air. The sun was lost among their 
dark branches, and the breeze which passed through 
them soughed mournfully. The ground beneath the 
trees was bare and brown. 

Julia had involuntarily reined in the colt when she 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


187 


entered this almost gruesome demesne. She had not 
imagined anything so repellant. Yet it all was a fit- 
ting environment for the master of it. It was in per- 
fect keeping with the unholy spirit of the man who 
dwelt in the house beyond. Up to this moment Julia 
had seen no sign of life, but as she urged The Prince 
forward towards the shut front door gleaming dingily 
green between the vivid colours of the cedars, a mon- 
strous dog appeared from somewhere and disputed 
her passage with a low growl and bristling hackles. 
It was a fierce beast, half-starved, huge, savage as a 
tiger. It was a boar-hound of foreign breed — Mars- 
ton had a number of them, though Julia, of course, 
knew nothing of this. The Prince stopped as this 
spectre of war took its place in front of him, and 
Julia felt the rigour which swept his frame. But he 
did not attempt to bolt. He merely stood with bright 
eyes, watching the sinister apparition. The dog was 
not inclined to be aggressive ; he merely appeared to 
be a sentinel, his duty being to stop further progress 
of the intruders. Julia did not know what to do. 
She would not retreat now. She was before the lion’s 
den, and she would see him before she withdrew. She 
had to see him, for life and death hung in the balance. 
If she did not see him she was surely lost ; if she did 
see him, there was a chance. The dog had no notion 
of retiring, and the situation was rapidly becoming 
strained. Just as she had made up her mind to call, 
and try and bring some one to her aid, a shrill whistle 
sounded somewhere in the rear. The brute before her 
turned its head, and its tail drooped. The whistle was 


188 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


repeated, louder than before, and thereupon the 
guardian of the way forsook his post, and retreated 
in a trot around the corner of the house. Julia 
promptly rode forward. There was some open 
ground between the trees, and she presently found 
herself in a clear space just in front of the house. 
Some flagstones were placed before the wooden step 
under the portals, and an iron knocker was imbedded 
in one of the panels of the massive doors. Should she 
dismount, and raise a summons ? The very at- 
mosphere was oppressive, in spite of the enveloping 
sunshine. She hesitated again; she did not know 
what to do. Everything was so different from all to 
which she had been accustomed. Here was silence, 
mystery, secrecy ; a house without a window or door 
open to that glorious morning. And the only sign of 
life that had been evinced was a ferocious dog, and a 
whistle from some hidden source, which must have 
come from human lips. She looked about her pite- 
ously, undecided. How still everything was ! There 
were no birds singing — ^but how could bird hearts 
break forth in song under that pall of cedar.? She 
turned again to gaze at the heavy iron knocker, and 
just then a piercing animal yelp of pain or fright 
reached her, followed by a foul malediction in a man’s 
rough voice. More yelps ensued, mingled with snarls 
and vicious oaths, then around the corner of the house 
they came — the dog which had stood in her path, 
with Devil Marston in hot pursuit. Plainly the dog 
had trespassed in a most unwarrantable manner, for 
between his strong jaws was a roast of beef, which 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


189 


thus far he had refused to deliver to its owner. Its 
pursuer was armed with a heavy cudgel, and he did 
not temper his blows with either mercy or judgment. 
In this wise they swept into view, the dog but slightly 
in advance of the man, who was swinging his bludgeon 
to an accompaniment of awful curses. 

It happened that Julia was facing this spectacle, 
and its presentation made her weak and faint for the 
moment. Never had her tender ears listened to such 
words before as fell from the lips of this man. His 
swarthy face was working and twitching from the 
volcano-like violence of his rage, and his fangs showed 
even as did the beast’s he was pursuing. The sudden 
and altogether unexpected appearance of Miss Julia 
Dudley before his door, mounted upon The Prince, 
was not sufficient to calm on the instant his superla- 
tive passion, which at times almost amounted to a fit, 
or frenzy. It is true he stopped short in his mad 
rush, but before he could bring himself to any degree 
of control he hurled the cudgel in his hand after the 
fleeing hound with all his strength, at the same mo- 
ment delivering a half smothered, parting malediction. 

Julia sat like a stone statue upon The Prince, which 
had shied violently at first, and in a way which would 
have unseated a less skillful rider. Her head was up, 
her brows slightly contracted, and her fine eyes set 
straight at the being who now walked towards her, 
his hat in his hand. 

By a superhuman effort of will Marston had com- 
posed his features, and as he halted a little to one 
side of The Prince’s head, he was smiling, if the in- 


190 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


congruous facial expression he now assumed could be 
designated that way. 

“Good morning, Miss Julia,” he said. 

The covert insolence in his voice was thinly veiled 
by a respectful intonation. 

“Good morning, Mr. Marston.” 

Julia was surprised at the steady tones in which 
she responded to his salutation. She had feared a 
quiver would run through the words. 

“I believe an apology is due you,” resumed Mars- 
ton, “before I inquire the cause of this visit. I’m 
glad to see you, you know.” 

He paused a moment to gloat openly over her face 
and figure. The girl felt herself grow colder before 
his bold gaze, but said nothing. 

“That da — that dog was called to his breakfast, 
and took a fancy to my dinner, which was on a shelf 
near. Of course I tried to get it away from him, 
and in the chase we ran into you. ■* * * But I 
haven’t welcomed you to my home yet ; shake hands 
with me!” 

He advanced to her side and held up his hand. 

For a moment a mist swam before Julia’s eyes, and 
she hesitated. All the hateful story which her father 
had told her rose up in detail, and she felt that to 
touch this monster would blast her. But she had come 
to sue for a favour — really to demand justice, but it 
meant the same thing. She could not afford to affront 
him, or anger him, if she could help it. She bent and 
placed her gloved hand in his, silently. He held it in 
a firm, fierce grasp until she forcibly withdrew it. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


191 


His little, pig-like eyes were flaming with a different 
emotion from that which had possessed them a mo- 
ment ago. 

“Come — get down,” he said, hoarsely. “You have 
come to call and I want to receive you in my house. 
I will get a boy to hold your horse.” 

He looked at her with hungry cunning as he spoke, 
and the proud spirit of the Dudleys within her 
rebelled. 

“I shall not dismount,” she said, backing The 
Prince a few steps ere she was aware of what she was 
doing. “My business here can be told briefly, and I 
haven’t time to stay.” 

She tried to choose her words carefully, for there 
was so much involved. 

“Ah !” he snarled ; “so you refuse my hospitality !” 

“I do not mean it that way, believe me. But I must 
hurry, and we can talk as well here.” 

He came a few paces nearer, covering the distance 
she had placed between them when she unconsciously 
backed The Prince. 

“I don’t like this !” he exclaimed, half rudely, look- 
ing at her with bold deviltry in his heavy face. “We 
are too far apart ; friends should be nearer when they 
talk.” 

He bared his protruding teeth in a horrible grin 
as he said this. His shrewd if debased intellect had 
told him from the first that nothing but the direst need 
would bring a Dudley to his door on any sort of mis- 
sion whatsoever. And as he realized that both girl 
and horse were for the time in his power, a Satanic 


192 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


joy possessed him, and made him toy with the situa- 
tion, in order to prolong it as far as possible. 

“Let me insist on your being my guest as long as 
you stay!” he leered, trying no longer to cloak the 
wicked passion which seethed in his tainted soul. “I 
have wine — refreshments. Come into the parlour 
where we can talk undisturbed.” 

A feeling of actual physical nausea shook Julia. 
She grasped the pommel of her saddle and swayed the 
least bit, then the sickness passed, and she was erect 
again, though whiter than one dead. She seemed the 
wraith of the girl who had ridden down the road. She 
did not know why this man should insist so strongly 
on her entering his door. She knew that he had pre- 
tended to love her, but that was over now, and gone. 
They had not seen each other for months. He could 
not wish to entertain her for any worthy reason, and 
though she could neither comprehend nor even suspect 
the depths of vileness in his heart, she knew that she 
had best remain where she was. 

“Please don’t insist,” she pleaded, her voice slightly 
tremulous in spite of her will. “I must speak quickly, 
and be gone. I do not feel that I have come to ask a 
favour, but simply to ask you to do right. Won’t 
you please have the dividend declared at the bank, 
instead of passing it.^* You know it means very much 
to father and me.” 

Although she endeavoured to present her cause 
coolly, her voice was that of a suppliant. It vibrated 
with pent-up emotion, and had a strange effect upon 
the man before her. His expression changed; his 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


193 


hands clenched at his sides, and he seemed battling 
with some internal feeling. He had taken his eyes 
from her, too, and was looking at the ground. But 
as she watched him, waiting breathlessly for his 
answer, he lifted his face again, and she almost cried 
out from terror, for she was in the presence of an 
incarnate fiend. His eyes seemed swimming in fire, 
and his countenance was that of a demon. He did 
not move nor speak for several moments ; he was 
literally holding himself in his tracks. He was a 
moral outlaw ; the lawless offspring of lawless parents ; 
begotten in basest sin and nurtured in infamy. He 
had never put the slightest check on any of his wishes 
or desires. With him desire had always meant 
gratification. And now, in the murky gloom of his 
black soul’s recesses a new desire had been born ; or, 
rather, a new flame had been given to an old desire. 
Even when driven from Major Dudley’s home he had 
not forsaken the idea that some day this fair young 
thing should be his. Subsequently the idea had slum- 
bered in his breast, but he had been only waiting — 
waiting and plotting. Now she had come within reach 
of his hand, alone, and he would have given his left 
hand to have grasped her with his right. No one but 
his hirelings were near, and it was no innate, dormant 
worth or goodness which stayed his hand. In part 
it was the innocence and unconscious purity of the 
girl herself, which wrapped her as in a garment and 
held an invisible but powerful shield before her. This 
moral atmosphere which enveloped her was so evident 
that even the dulled and warped sensibilities of Devil 


194 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Marston, at their best but unformed and sickly fungi, 
recognized it, and trembled before it. Yet the lash 
which was driving him would in time have made him 
dash aside this shield, in all probability, had there 
not been another powerful, though absent factor. 
The face and form of J ohn Glenning kept constantly 
recurring. Should he dare touch this girl’s dress, to 
say nothing of forcing his beast’s lips on hers, he 
knew that his life would pay the forfeit. He knew 
that John Glenning would certainly kill him. So he 
was torn horribly by different emotions, as he stood 
and wrestled silently. At length he spoke ; the voice 
of a beast made articulate. It was croaking and 
harsh ; the blending of a bellow and a growl. 

“So — you — ^need money, do you.^” 

The words in themselves was an insult, independent 
of the wagging of his bull-like head, which slowly 
moved in mockery. 

The terrible trial was telling upon Julia. Her 
great eyes were strained, and lines of distress were 
forming at the corners of her mouth. She shifted the 
reins to her left hand and thrust her right under the 
loose folds of a light wrap which she carried. When 
her fingers closed upon the handle of the revolver, 
new courage came. She would go on, though some- 
thing told her that her quest was hopeless. 

“Yes, we need money, but we don’t want any that 
isn’t rightfully ours. I have read in the Herald all 
about the affair at the bank, and how the dividend 
was passed that you might make improvements and 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


195 


buy a new safe. Can’t you do these things, and de- 
clare the dividend, too.?” 

“We might do without these things altogether,” he 
answered, darkly. 

She grasped at the straw. 

“Oh, please do! I felt that if I would come and 
ask you to give us what was really ours, that you 
would. Won’t you have it done, Mr. Marston? Tell 
me, and I’ll not detain you any longer.” 

Again he smiled his wolfish smile, and gazed on her 
in a sinister way. 

“We do not get things for nothing in this world,” 
he answered, in a cold, deliberate voice. The par- 
oxysm of passion which had shaken him was gone 
now, and had left him maliciously cool and scheming. 
“You want me to declare this dividend. I can do it 
yet, for I’m the bank, you know. I kick those pups 
around down there like I do these dogs and niggers 
here at home. The question is — how badly do you 
want this dividend.?” 

A rosy flush flared up into Julia’s waxen cheeks. 

“It is not quite fair to flaunt our need in my face,” 
she answered, all but imperiously. “But you know 
how we are situated, as does every one in Macon, and 
this county. Father’s bank stock is his only source 
of income, if you will have me say it.” 

“You have not exactly answered my question,” 
pursued Devil Marston. “I told you that everything 
worth having must be bought. What will you give 
me for this dividend.?” 


196 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“I do not understand what you mean. It belongs 
to us — or our part of it does. Why will you not let 
us have it.?” 

She could not look at him; his face was repulsive 
beyond measure, and she kept her eyes on the deli- 
cately-veined ears of The Prince as she desperately 
fought her battle of words. 

“I will let you have it — ^but, there is a price to pay. 
You cannot get something for nothing, from me!” 

His voice rang hard and exultant on the last sen- 
tence. 

“Please be plain,” she urged. “Tell me what you 
mean, quickly.” 

“The dividend has its price, if you will pay!” he 
said, drawing a step closer. “A little price to save 
you and your father from starvation. * * * Q-gt 

down, come into my home with me, drink a glass of 
wine with me, kiss me once! — Will you pay it.?” 


CHAPTER XII. 


There was the sound of rushing water in her ears, 
and for a moment she was blind. How dared he! 
To her, a Dudley! Then she knew she was looking 
full at him with unutterable scorn in her eyes. He 
saw the contempt and indignity which his words had 
aroused, and his face blackened. 

“Just as you will !” he said, roughly. “It’s nothing 
to me. There was a time when I would have made 
you mistress of this house, and had it not been for a 
scoundrelly, meddling doctor you might have married 
me ! You love him now — I know ! I’m not a fool, but 
precious little happiness you’ll get from him. They 
ran him out of Jericho for mixing up with a married 
woman, and if you want to marry a rascal like that 
you’re welcome to do it!” 

He stopped, and glared at her like a baffled animal. 

She could not yet find her voice. In a vague way 
she knew that she had been hurt, sorely wounded; 
that a profane foot had trodden in the holy of holies 
in her breast, and that a profane hand had snatched 
at the sacred fire which burned upon the altar there. 
She knew that never in her life before had she felt as 
she did now. Her purity had been affronted, and a 
friend’s dear name had been attacked. She was 
crushed, dumb, and realizing that she had failed mis- 
erably in her mission, she dully turned The Prince’s 


[ 197 ] 


198 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


head towards the gate, and started to ride away. But 
on the instant Marston’s hand was on the bridle near 
the bit, and Marston’s figure loomed in her path. 

“Not yet!” he gritted, venom flashing from his 
little eyes. “There is more to tell, and I don’t think 
I’ll have a lovely opportunity like this again soon! 
You refuse.^ You refuse my price 

Still the girl did not answer. She could not answer, 
for her tongue seemed paralyzed. A rabid sort of 
anger was mounting again in the fiend before her. 
She saw its signals flare in a renewed gleam in his 
sodden eyes, in the dull red, gorged muscles of his 
thick throat. His coarse lips were twitching, as 
though forming words too awful for her to hear. At 
this moment, too, a cloud passed before the sun, and a 
quick lessening of light was perceptible. To Julia it 
almost amounted to gloom, seated as she was in the 
dank shade of one of the funereal cedars, and she 
could have cried out in pure physical terror had her 
voice at that moment been subservient to her will. 
For there before her, almost within arm’s length, 
stood Devil Marston, like a huge spider in his loathe- 
someness, compelling her to remain where she was, 
and listen to whatever tale of malice, flavoured with a 
grain of truth, perhaps, which he might care to relate. 

“The terms ! The terms !” he said, again, thrusting 
his face towards her with all its projecting teeth 
visible. “You won’t be hurt! What’s a glass of wine 
and a kiss ? Tut ! The first is nothing, and I’ll bet 
that jackanapes of a doctor gets plenty of the second! 
Isn’t one for me worth two hundred and fifty dollars.^” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


199 


This speech broke Julia’s reserve, with its cruel, 
brutal accusation. 

“Hush !” she exclaimed, all the dormant and dead- 
ened forces of her nature awaking to full and vigor- 
ous protest. “Don’t dare to say such things to me. 
Devil Marston! I came alone to your house this 
morning, because, though I knew that you were a bad 
man, I believed that I would be received and treated 
with proper respect. You have forfeited all right to 
any kind of consideration; you have trampled upon 
my finer feelings and made me suffer keenly — and 
you shall pay ! You shall pay !” 

She leaned from her saddle-bow towards him, set- 
ting her flame-tinged face with its large, distressed, 
undaunted eyes in opposition to his vulgar visage lit 
with fires from hell. 

He started at the sudden vehemence of her speech, 
and the quick transition from almost lethargy to 
almost violent action. 

“/ pay.'’ — What do you mean, girl.?”’ he cried, 
gripping the bridle firmer and throwing a quick 
glance in the direction of the highway, which was no 
great distance off, and visible for several rods from 
where they were standing. 

“I mean what I say!” she repeated, undismayed. 
Her courage was perhaps unnatural, induced by that 
low speech wherein Marston had cuttingly spoken of 
the kisses she had given Glenning. “My father shall 
hear of this, and Dr. Glenning, too — he whom you 
have vilely slandered I I withdraw the request which 
I made a while ago ; I don’t want a dividend if it has 


THE MAN I'iiOM JERICHO 


WO 

to come through ^our influence and your power. 
Though it is rightly ours, I do not want it now, for it 
would degrade anyone who touched it after your 
word had made it possible ! I scorn and detest you ! 
I defy you, and dare you to do your worst, you piti- 
ful thing whom God made like a man, and gave the 
nature of a brute instead of a soul! Now I am 
through. Let me go ! Take your hand from my 
bridle-rein ! Miss Dudley is ready to ride back home I” 
Erect in her saddle now as a young goddess, she 
gazed down upon him with high-held head, disgust 
and anger blending charmingly on her lovely fea- 
tures. She did not feel herself. Never in her life 
before had such storms of feeling swept her. She 
knew she was unreal ; that this side to her nature she 
had never seen — had never known of its existence. 
The flood which had carried her to that grand height 
where she could brave and dare a man like Devil 
Marston in his own yard, was receding. It was too 
powerful to last. It had given her a glorious strength 
to say what was in her heart and mind, in clear words 
which rang with sincerity and conviction, but now, 
that she was done, was sitting with her proud chin 
up and disdainful eyes fastened upon the object of 
her displeasure, she felt the ebb of tears which fol- 
lowed the flood of courage. She was surely and 
quickly coming back to her own ; the normal woman 
in her was being reinstated. She knew that she must 
go, at once, or her next words would struggle through 
sobs. Though her face showed naught of it, her 
breast was filled with a fearful anxiety, as she watched 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


201 


the effect of her words. At first the man was stunned. 
He could not believe his ears. That anyone, to say 
nothing of a girl, should come before him and speak 
such things, was past his comprehension. He actually 
blinked at her, stupidly, as she went on, and his face 
turned a yellowish gray. But when she concluded his 
brutish rage had gained the ascendency. 

“You’re ready to go home — I guess you are ! But 
I’m not ready to let you go! You defy me! You 
dare me ! You call me ugly names ! I’m not as pretty 
as your doctor friend who went regularly every 
evenin’ to see that married woman back in Jericho ! 
Ha! ha! ha! You don’t like that, do you.? But it’s 
true, anywa}^, I — ” 

“Let me go — let me go !” sobbed Julia, the strain 
overcoming her at last, breaking down the frail fabric 
of her brave young courage. “You shan’t say such 
things to me !” 

She attempted to urge The Prince on, but the iron 
grip of Marston held him. 

“Go easy, young lady ! Don’t hurry !” mocked the 
monster. “There’s more to tell. I’m saving the 
choicest morsel of scandal for the last, then I’ll fix 
this long-legged fellow of yours !” 

Julia had purposely delayed bringing her weapon 
into play, but she saw now that the time was ripe for 
her to use it. She drew it from its place and quickly 
leveled it at the man. 

“Unloose my horse, or I swear I’ll shoot !” she said, 
and Marston, looking in her eyes, knew that she 
meant it. 


202 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


He feinted, dropped the bridle, and pretended to 
draw aside. But the next moment he took a rapid 
step forward, threw up his arm, and sent the revolver 
flying through the air. It alighted on the thick grass, 
without exploding. It happened that the gaunt hound 
which had disputed Julia’s passage at the beginning 
of her call, having finished the roast of beef in a fur- 
ther corner of the yard, was passing that moment on 
his way back to the kitchen porch, his hunger doubt- 
less still unappeased. He was a brute used to sudden 
foray and quick brawls, and this movement of his 
master towards the horsewoman seemed to him a sig- 
nal — a call to battle. So, as Marston deftly dis- 
armed Julia, the dog promptly leaped at The Prince’s 
front with a savage roar. The wonder is the poor 
girl kept her senses, but this attack of the dog was 
her salvation. The sensitive animal which she rode 
reared and swerved with the agility of a cat, eluding 
the hound’s spring and colliding with Marston, who 
was sent sprawling upon the ground. The way to 
safety was^clear ! She touched The Prince’s side with 
her heel, drew up her reins, and told him to go in a low 
voice of entreaty. But he needed no urging. Down 
the yard they flew, and Julia put him at the fence, 
for there was no time to be lost with the narrow gate. 
He went over the barrier with the ease and grace of 
a swallow, and on towards the road. The farm gate 
letting onto the pike she had left open, and as she 
dashed through it she almost ran into a buggy com- 
ing from the direction of town, with a man in it. The 
Prince swerved around the obstacle — ^he was running 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


at last, and his rider made no attempt to restrain 
him — and was gone down the white limestone road 
like a greyhound in chase. 

The top of the buggy which the man drove was 
down flat, for it was a summer morning, and he loved 
sunshine and air. He drew his horse up to a stand- 
still, and turning in his seat looked back at the fleeing 
twain, now rapidly diminishing in a cloud of gray 
dust. The glimpse which he had caught of the two 
as they passed was almost as brief as that one gets 
of a landscape on a night of storm during a lightning 
flash. He thought he knew the colt — surely there was 
none other like it anywhere, and he was confident he 
knew the rider, although her face was white, terror- 
stricken, tear-stained. Whether she had recognized 
him or not he could not say. Her haunting eyes had 
looked straight at him for a moment, but no gleam of 
understanding had lighted them. Now they were 
gone; the distant hoof-beats had died. The man 
turned half way around, and looked again. This 
time his eyes swept the home of Devil Marston and 
its vicinity. As he looked his mouth grew hard, his 
eyes drooped at the corners, and the muscles of his 
cheeks ridged themselves under his skin. He under- 
stood. He slowly and deliberately got out, led his 
horse to the roadside and carefully hitched it, then 
passed through the open farm gate and strode briskly 
on. Two minutes later John Glenning, with folded 
arms, stood fronting Devil Marston between the 
cedars. The hound had disappeared. The two men 
were absolutely alone. There was no word of greet- 


^04 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


ing exchanged between them. Each knew that civili- 
ties would be superfluous and out of place. They 
simply met as two things of primeval creation might 
meet, and the feelings which governed each of them 
in that moment were wholly savage. In every one 
this old strain is running : animal first, then soul, and 
mind, and heart. Mere being first ; then civilization, 
with its accessories of education and refinement. Two 
animals met between the cedars ; the mask had been 
flung aside. They had come face to face moved en- 
tirely by the world-old battle lust. The one naturally 
evil ; the other made so because he knew that in some 
way the woman he loved had been mistreated and 
abused. Words were out of place and unnecessary, 
but a sense of right and decency crept into Glenning’s 
seething brain, and made him speak. 

“I want to apologize for striking you on the street 
in Macon.” 

The sentence was cold as ice, and formal. There 
was no feeling in it. The man to whom it was ad- 
dressed stood with arms hanging loosely at his sides, 
his face sullen and crafty. He did not reply. 

“You know I had to do it,” went on the steel-like 
voice. “I regret the necessity more than I apologize 
for the blow. You deserved that. Let it pass.” 

Marston spoke. 

“What in the devil do you want here.^^ Begone, 
before I put the dogs on you!” 

“I am here to give you a thrashing you won’t for- 
get as long as you live! You are a coward and a 
cur !” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


The stinging words brought no added colour to 
Marston’s face. They did not hurt him; his sensi- 
bilities were hardened, and were difficult to reach. 
But he cast an involuntary look of longing towards 
the revolver lying partly concealed in the long grass 
a rod or more away. The sombre eyes watching him 
with hawk-like intentness noticed the glance, and in- 
stantly turned in the same direction. Glenning 
saw. 

“Don’t you wish you had that in your hand.^” he 
said. “I know you haven’t one on your person, or 
you would have shot me before now. To relieve you 
of any apprehension T don’t mind telling you that I 
am totally unarmed. * * ^ How did that come 

there 

He nodded abruptly in the direction of Julia’s 
revolver. 

“I don’t see that I’m in a witness box!” Marston 
answered, viciously. 

“Take comfort,” retorted Glenning, evenly. “You 
will be if you live long enough. * * * We are 

wasting time and bandying words to no purpose,” he 
resumed briskly. “I met a young lady coming from 
your house in evident distress a few moments ago. 
She was riding hard and she was scared. Did you 
scare her, and had she anything to do with that 
revolver 

The words of the last sentence came hard as lead 
bullets against Marston’s ears, and frightened him. 
The face of his caller had suddenly grown white and 
fierce. Glenning’s knotted fists were writhing under 


206 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


his folded arms. Marston knew he had better speak, 
and speak the truth. 

“She came to see me of her own free will. I invited 
her in, and she drew her pistol on me. I knocked it 
out of her hand to keep from getting shot.” 

“A likely tale, and the skeleton of truth alone, I 
daresay. What did she want with youV' 

A smile of triumph lit the dark features of the 
hybrid. 

“Something you could not give her, but 1 could ! — 
Julia Dudley came for a favour to mei*' 

“Keep her name out of it, damn you !” 

Glenning, white hot, drew two steps nearer, though 
still holding himself in check. 

“We can talk without the use of names. What 
favour did she want.^” 

“She came to ask me to have the bank dividend de- 
clared, or they would starve!” 

“That was no favour. The money is Major Dud- 
ley’s. You have stolen it from them by withholding 
it. She came to demand her own, and her own was 
denied her, no need to tell me that.” 

Marston thought of the price he had put upon the 
dividend, and, while he longed to goad and torture 
his enemy to the utmost, he feared to tell him of that 
part of their conversation. 

“No, she didn’t get it I” he answered, roughly. 

“Look at me, Mr. Marston I” 

Little as he liked the command, Marston centered 
his ever shifting eyes upon Glenning’s. But they 
would not stay, despite his will. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 207 

“You’ve been to Jericho,” went on the even voice. 
“You came back last night. What did you go for?” 

“What in hell do you mean ?” he flared out, with a 
bluster. * * * went on business.” 

^^Your business, or my business?” 

This time Marston coloured perceptibly, and 
shrugged his shoulders. He did not answer. 

“See here !” resumed Glenning. “I know why you 
went to Jericho. Now listen. If you begin spreading 
lies about me in this community you shall suffer. 
Tell the truth — the whole truth — and I’ll not say a 
word. But you don’t know the whole truth, nor any 
part of it. You didn’t go to get the truth, but all the 
low, indecent scandal and gossip you could scrape 
together. Usually that side is not as hard to get as 
the other. It is not my fault that we have been 
enemies from the night I came to Macon. I would 
not have you for a friend, believe me, but we might 
at least have been civil. You’ve heard a great deal 
of stuff while you were away that your informants 
wouldn’t repeat to my face. And I tell you they are 
all lies I * * * Did you voice any of them to 

Miss — ^to her?” 

Again Marston felt the truth dragged from him. 
But a sardonic smile of malicious pleasure spread 
over his face as he answered — 

“I told her a little about my trip, and how a cer- 
tain friend of hers had another sweetheart back up 
there, but she broke away before I could tell her 
all—” 

^^Broke away ! — Devil ! Did you hold her ?” 


208 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Restraint, for the moment was cast aside. 

Glenning’s long hands grasped each of Marston’s 
arms just below the shoulders, and so he held him 
motionless. 

“I didn’t touch her!” was the snarling answer. 
“I held the damned colt by the bridle until she drew 
on me — ” 

John flung him backward with an oath. 

^^Stripr 

‘ He hissed out the word with sibilant wrath, and 
threw off his light coat. Then, trembling the least 
bit while fighting inw^ardly for calm, he began rolling 
back his sleeves. He ceased these preparations long 
enough to toss his hat upon his coat and discard tie 
and collar. Marston cast another hungry look at the 
revolver, while making no move to comply with the 
order he had received. Glenning came towards him. 

“Are you going to fight, or must I slap your face, 
you dog.?*” 

The concluding word gave Marston a happy 
thought, and he quickly pursed his heavy lips, and 
whistled shrilly. He had no mind for an encounter 
w'ith the young man where the weapons employed 
would be fists alone. He was probably stronger, but 
he secretly felt that he would be punished severely 
should they come to blows. He had much rather that 
his boar-hound fight for him, so he issued the 
summons. 

“No more of that!” said John, sternly. “Make 
another sound and I strike you, whether you are pre- 
pared or not. Are you coming, or shall I break a 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


W9 


switch from one of your bushes, and lay you across 
my knee?” 

This taunt was more than flesh and blood could 
bear. It pierced even Marston’s seared sensibilities, 
and stung like something hot. He got out of his coat 
with one lightning-like movement, and at once as- 
sumed the offensive. This was what Glenning wished. 
It would have been degrading to knock down and 
batter about some one who made no resistance. The 
men presented an interesting contrast as they stood 
on guard. Glenning wore a white negligee shirt, and 
gray trousers, neatly creased. He was clean shaven 
and his straight black hair fell over his forehead as 
he leaned forward, alert and vigilant. One could see 
now the broad expanse of his back and his wonderful 
breadth of shoulders. Marston at home was not the 
Marston in town. He wore a sort of gray flannel 
shirt, carelessly buttoned, shapeless corduroy trousers 
and rusty shoes. His thick neck was corded and 
hairy, and there were dry, red veins in his cheeks 
caused by the excessive use of liquor. He came at 
his opponent carefully, in spite of his anger, and 
delivered his first blow so swiftly that Glenning only 
partially succeeded in parrying it. The big fist slid 
off his arm and caught him on the shoulder, turning 
him half way around. He responded at once with a 
side swing, which Marston avoided. He was remark- 
ably quick on his feet for so heavy a man. Then they 
circled, warily. Suddenly Glenning let drive from the 
shoulder. It w^as an unexpected move, and caught 
Marston unprepared. A row of hard knuckles lodged 


210 THE MAN FRci]^ JERICHO 

against his chin and sent him reeling. The trutik of 
a cedar tree intervened, and he did not fall. His face 
was awful as he came on again; enough to unnerve 
the strongest man. But Glenning had found hiitiself. 
He was calm now, and confident. Marston was rag- 
ing, blind mad. He struck out wildly, trusting to 
brute strength. Again Glenning’s long arm straight- 
ened, and for a moment the breath left the chest of 
his antagonist. He staggered, and dropped his 
guard, but Glenning did not follow up. Marston, 
with an inarticulate cry of rage, sought to close. He 
no longer attempted to fight as boxers do, but came 
with outstretched hands, feeling blindly for his foe. 
There was no mercy in the heart of the iron-faced 
man fronting him. A third time Glenning struck, 
and his fist caught Marston over the eye, crumpling 
him on the grass like a thing of reed. He did not 
move. John knelt and leaned over him. His eyes 
were shut, but he was breathing, spasmodically. 
Glenning arose. 

“This is for the pain you caused her, and for the 
lies you told on me !” he muttered. He walked to the 
spot where he had thrown his clothing and put the 
various articles on. As he finished this he saw a negro 
in the side yard. “Come here !” he called. 

The negro obeyed. 

“There’s your master. He’s hurt, but not badly. 
Carry him in and pour water on his face and give 
him some whiskey.” 

Glenning wheeled, picked up the pearl-handled re- 
volver as he passed, and went on towards the road. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


During the week which followed a number of things 
happened. First, Dink Scribbens took a wonderful 
and sudden turn for the better. The fact that none 
of his family had become infected was a matter for 
marvel throughout the county, and the credit for 
their miraculous escape was of course given to the 
attending physician. Uncle Billy Hoonover would 
not pass the hovel guarded awfully and mutely with 
a tiny yellow flag tacked to one corner of it — an 
emblem with more power to repel than a legion of 
soldiers — and he could not stay away from town. 
Unless the lamp-post where he invariably hitched re- 
newed acquaintance with his gray nag every morning. 
Uncle Billy almost felt it would walk away in indig- 
nation and disappointment. Then, too, municipal, 
county and national affairs needed his attention every 
day in front of the county clerk’s office. He occupied 
a chair there as regularly as he did at home, and his 
word was final. By this I do not mean that it was 
always accepted, but it surely was always the last 
spoken. Provided he secured the last word, he felt 
that his opinion was the correct one. During these 
days Mr. Hoonover “drove through.” That is to say 
he made a more or less direct route for town through 
his own and one of his neighbour’s farms ; a trip at- 


[ 211 ] 


212 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


tended with much discomfort and some peril, for the 
way led over ground tilled and untilled, across unex- 
pected gullies and into grass-hidden sinkholes. 

One morning, a week after John’s encounter with 
IMarston at the latter’s home, the usual gathering 
began to assemble in the shade before the door of the 
county clerk’s office. Some were smoking pipes ; some 
were chewing tobacco. The use of the weed in some 
form was universal. Conversation was desultory and 
spiritless for a time. The morning was extremely 
hot, and one would have thought that fact responsible 
for the listlessness which pervaded the group. The 
truth was, however, that their ringleader had not 
arrived. 

“Uncle Billy must be sick,” drawled big Joe Colver, 
tilting his chair onto its two rear legs and leaning 
his weight forward on his knees. 

“More like he’s fell in a ditch ’n’ broke his laig!” 
chimed in old Tim Mellowby. Old Tim was the town 
drunkard, a privileged, harmless character, whom 
every one tolerated. He remained in a perpetual 
state of comfortable inebriety; was inoffensive; in 
former years had been a boot and shoe maker, and 
during that period of his life had accumulated enough 
money to support himself in drunken idleness the rest 
of his days. His favourite haunt was the spot he 
now sat. He loved to listen, and also to express him- 
self from time to time. A general laugh greeted 
Tim’s sally. 

“Mr. Hoonover will arrive, never fear !” piped a 
third voice. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


213 


It came from against the wall, and the speaker was 
Colonel Whitley. He was an old, dried-up little man, 
with keen eyes, bushy brows, hawk nose and fuzzy 
gray side whiskers. He was the learned one of the 
group — quite a . scholar indeed. He had been 
“abroad” in his day, too, and this fact invested him 
with an added dignity in the eyes of his stay-at-home 
townspeople. His profession had formerly been the 
practice of law, but he had retired several years be- 
fore. Nevertheless he always came up to the court- 
house yard every morning to read his paper, and 
occasionally to let his voice be heard. 

“Possess your souls in patience,” he added, “and 
presently you will witness the fulfillment of my pre- 
diction.” 

His head went down behind the paper. His hear- 
ers were accustomed to his bombastic style of speech, 
and admired him too much even to smile at the ful- 
ness of his rhetoric. 

A figure came thumping hurriedly across the yard, 
a black medicine case in its hand, its vest secured by 
a single button at the bottom, wearing a white shirt 
streaked with ambier, and a derby hat much to large. 

“Hullo, doc!” greeted Judge Colver, as the new- 
comer halted and glared around as though expecting 
some hostile move. “The small-pox didn’t spread, 
did it.?” 

“Who said it would spread.?” snapped Doctor 
Kale. 

“It has a trick o’ doin’ it, I believe!” retorted the 
judge. 


214 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Not if it’s taken in time, and handled right. You 
can’t kill a damned pauper !” 

“You didn’t try ’im !” grinned old Tim Mellowby, 
“or maybe you’d had better luck than the new man !” 

Doctor Kale wheeled, but when he saw from whence 
this remark originated he turned his back in silent 
contempt. 

“I’ve come from Tom Dudley’s, and it’s a good day 
with them,” he observed, abruptly, his harsh crust 
melting before some powerful inner* force. 

“I presume one of them is ill, to require the pres- 
ence of a physician,” piped the voice from the wall 
again. “Then how can you say it is a good day with 
them 

For a wonder Doctor Kale did not retort. He 
heard Colonel Whitley plainly, and his ears detected 
the note of irony in the question, but his asperity 
seemed suddenly to have melted ; to have merged with 
and become engulfed in the warm feeling of joy which 
surged in his heart. 

“You know they’ve been in bad lines,” he said, 
looking, on the ground, a rather pathetic figure in his 
ill-fitting, haphazard agglomeration of garments, 
none harmonizing with its neighbour. “They’d come 
almost to a crust, gentlemen, and such of you as are 
business men know upon what they depend. That 
was cut off something over a week ago. I was passing 
this morning, and was called in hurriedly. This is 
good news of one of our best citizens, therefore I give 
it to you. Major had had an attack with his heart, 
brought on by excitement caused by the morning’s 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^15 

mail. I straightened him out, then Julia told me all 
about it. Most of you will remember Arthur Dudley, 
Major’s brother. He’s been away for a score of 
years, and they lost him, totally. Thought him dead. 
This morning Tom got a letter from a lawyer in St. 
Louis, with a check in it for two thousand dollars. 
Major’s brother was on his way back here. He took 
sick in St. Louis, sent for this lawyer, died, and the 
money came on.” 

“Whose money — What money exclaimed Uncle 
Billy Hoonover, hastening up at that moment in time 
to catch the last words. 

Doctor Kale promptly growled something about 
an engagement, and departed with the same haste 
which marked his approach. 

The paper by the wall was lowered once more, re- 
vealing a hawk nose, bushy brows and sharp eyes. 

“I told you, gentlemen, Mr. Hoonover would ar- 
rive!” the thin voice of Colonel Whitley declared. 
“Good morning, Mr. Hoonover I” 

“What’s that sour old coon been tellin’ you.'^” de- 
manded Uncle Billy, bearing down upon old Tim 
Mellowby, who had inadvertently occupied his chair. 
“Git up! Don’t you know that’s my seat.'^” 

He made a half threatening movement with his 
staff, but old Tim slid off his perch good-naturedly 
and sought the ground instead, no more chairs being 
available. 

Judge Colver thereupon essayed, in his longwinded, 
heavy way, to impart to the new arrival the story 
they had just heard. Uncle Billy listened with be- 


216 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


coming patience for one of his excitable temperament. 

“Well, ’pon my soul!” he ejaculated, when the re- 
cital was done. “Things happen nowadays as queer 
as Jonah an’ the whale! Arthur — an’ who’d ’a’ 
thought? — two thousand dollars! He’s a stiff old 
codger, but nobody c’n say anything ag’in ’im! He’s 
got a right to live by hisself an’ not neighbour any.” 

“Is Dink up yit?” asked a very sober looking, lank 
individual, who up to this moment had remained 
silent. He was the jailer. The question, simple as 
it was, proved an unlucky one, for the ire of Uncle 
Billy arose at once. He began to thump the earth 
with his staff and comb his whiskers with his 
fingers. 

“Ain’t I late this mornin’?” he demanded, instead 
of making direct reply to the question. “Oughtn’t I 
’a’ been here a half-n-hour ago ?” 

He glared from one to the other as though daring 
them to refute it. Each person present maintained 
a discreet silence, though one or two nodded ac- 
quiescence. 

“Late! Late to town!” he stormed. “And what 
for? That pesky Lizy Ann Scribbens had the 
owdacity to come to my front door this very mornin’ 
— a beggin’. My front door! An’ her just been 
cooped up with that diseased rat of a husban’. Dink, 
an’ small-pox microbes a-crawlin’ all over her ! Didn’t 
I pack her off? I swear, gentlemen, I got my shotgun 
before she would leave ! Paupers oughter live in the 
poorhouse an’ not purten’ to be decent. Dink won’t 
admit he’s a pauper, but he lives by stealin’, what’s 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


217 


worse. * * * That’s why I’m late, an’ if I don’t 

ketch it I don’t know why !” 

The paper rustled against the wall. 

‘T should think, Mr. Hoonover, that you should 
apprehend no danger of contagion, as you had no 
personal contact with your caller. Of course that 
is a layman’s view only, but I would hot give it an- 
other thought.” 

A pistol shot, startlingly near and distinct, punc- 
tuated the carefully uttered speech of Colonel Whit- 
ley. The group leaped up as one man — save the one 
who had last spoken. Colonel Whitley was in a com- 
fortable position, and his paper was only half read. 
The shot sounded from Main street, and Judge Col- 
ver, as fearless as he was big, started in a lumbering 
trot across the yard to ascertain the cause of the 
disturbance. But almost immediately three men ap- 
pared around the corner of the court-house. One 
was a deputy sheriff, another was a blacksmith, and 
between them, struggling violently to free himself, 
was a low, poorly dressed, unkempt person. 

“What’s up.? What’s Hank done.?” queried the 
judge. 

“Shot Dick Goodloe !” answered the deputy, 
quickly, he and the smith hurrying their man forward 
as rapidly as possible. On the other side of the yard 
was a little gate, and it was for this they were head- 
ing, it being the nearest approach to the jail. “Keep 
back the crowd, Joe, till we get Hank in !” called the 
deputy, and they pushed on. 

The crowd as yet, however, was entirely harmless. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


ns 

and was centered about some indistinguishable ob- 
ject in the middle of the street. The live assassin 
was far less interesting than the fallen officer, for 
Dick Goodloe was the town marshal ; an honest, sober, 
efficient fellow whom everyone admired for his adher- 
ence to duty. Not three minutes had passed since the 
shot split the warm, still air. Before, the town had 
seemed only half alive; a few people on the street, a 
few men in the store doors, a few loitering negroes. 
Now a seething mass of humanity of all ages was 
congregated in front of the postoffice, almost from 
curb to curb, and those who had first reached the 
marshal were so pushed upon and hampered that 
they could do nothing. 

John was in his office when the unmistakable sound 
came spitefully through his window, and caused him 
to seize his hat and run down stairs. The mishap 
had occurred at the other end of the square, and when 
he reached the scene it was to find his way blocked 
by a human wall. 

“Get out of my way!” he called, in a loud, clear 
voice, and begun pushing his body in, using his hands, 
elbows and knees irrespective of who they touched. 
“Stand back I You’ll smother him ! * * * Back I 

Back!” he commanded, and the stern voice carried 
weight. They made room for him, and directly he 
was kneeling by the prostrate form. A brief exam- 
ination showed him it was bad enough. A ball 
through the man’s right side, with blood spouting 
from the wound. 

“Where does he live.^” he asked, quickly, turning 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^19 


his head and looking up half savagely. “How far?” 

“Half mile, I reck’n, anyhow,” answered a by- 
stander, with his hands in his pockets. 

“Lift his feet; I’ll take his head and shoulders,” 
said Glenning, to a determined looking man in front 
of him. “Into the drug store yonder. It’s quick 
work now, or he’s gone !” 

They came up with Goodloe’s weight between them. 
The crowd was apathetic with curiosity. 

“Back! — damn you!” gritted John Glenning, his 
patience leaving him at the asinine stupidity of the 
class with which he was surrounded. The lower ele- 
ment of Macon, which formed the inner line of that 
congested caldron of people, had begun to press for- 
ward again to get a glimpse of the senseless form 
which many of them had seen daily all their lives. 
They gave, half in fear ; a lane was opened, and Dick 
Goodloe was carried across the street into the drug 
store. 

“Lock your door !” ordered Glenning, then he was 
coolly removing clothing and calling for this and 
that, and battling with all the skill that was in him 
for the life of this stranger whom a half-drunken, 
altogether mean ruffian had tried to kill. The front 
of the drug store was darkened by the thronging 
crowd which pressed against the windows and door — 
trjdng to see ! The better class of citizens began to 
assemble, but these were content to wait ; they wanted 
to be on hand when the doctor’s verdict was given 
out. Squads of men had already formed up and 
down the street to talk it over. Business was sus- 


220 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


pended for the time, and an atmosphere of gloom 
began to settle over Main street. Very soon it be- 
came known that Goodloe had only a thread of a 
chance for his life. The bullet had been found and 
taken out, but the wound was in a vital part. The 
chances were against the marshal. These things 
Glenning told quietly and willingly to such as inquired 
after his patient as he left the drug store, giving in- 
structions that the .man be carried to his home as soon 
as possible. 

The being whose wanton hand had stricken down 
the officer was a totally worthless character ; shiftless, 
depraved, wicked. He had that morning, while under 
the influence of liquor, provoked an altercation with 
a colored labourer in the street. He began using vile 
language ; ladies were passing. Goodloe warned him 
to stop, and take himself off. Then the miscreant 
had shot him. That was all. And now this thing 
which masqueraded as a human had been given the 
protection of the law, had been shelter.ed in the jail 
from the just wrath of his fellowmen. There were 
low murmurings running about the streets of the town 
all that day, and men came and went, went and came 
from the humble cottage which was Dick Goodloe’s 
home, getting news of the sick man and disseminating 
it to the scores who inquired of his condition. The 
reports were not good. And as the afternoon waned 
word came that the marshal was delirious. Some 
apprehensive friend had sent Doctor Kale to wait 
upon the marshal, with instructions to stay in the 
house. The old fellow stormed and swore that he 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


221 


wouldn’t take any man’s patient from him, that pro- 
fessional etiquette forbade it, and damned if he’d go ! 
Glenning persuaded him to change his mind, urging 
him to go and do all he could. John was out of town 
most of the day. His practice had increased three 
patients that week, but those who had sought his 
services lived rather far in the country, and it re- 
quired some time for him to make his rounds. It was 
dark before he returned to Macon. He did not go to 
supper, but ate at a restaurant. Then he bathed, 
changed his linen, and started afoot for the Dudleys. 

It had taken him exactly seven days to get his own 
consent to call here. During that time he had not 
seen Julia, even at a distance. He wanted to see her, 
more than he had ever wanted to see anyone in his 
life, but he did not know how she would receive him 
now. What had Marston told her.? To be sure he 
had warned her against Marston in time, but a 
woman’s heart is ever an unsolved riddle, and the 
story she had heard may have stung, and blighted, 
and seared. He was at last determined to know. He 
had remained in ignorance as long as he could. Better 
to hear from her own lips that she cared no more to 
see him, than to hide from her like a coward, and by 
his silence and absence confess his guilt. One thing 
gladdened him as he strode along in the starlight. 
That morning a letter had come from Will Porter, 
stating that he had carried out his part of the plan, 
and sent Major Dudley the money. 

Glenning’s accustomed ease had entirely deserted 
him as he knocked at the open front door. He was 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


painfully harassed, and uncertain of himself. He 
scarcely knew what he would say, or do. He heard a 
step, heavy, flapping. Aunt Frances appeared at 
the rear of the long, shadowy hall, and came waddling 
towards him. 

“Ebenin’, Marse Glen’n’.” She greeted him a little 
stiffly. 

“Where’s your mistress. Aunt Frances.^ Tell her 
I am come, if you please, and would like to see her 
for a few moments.” 

He came in and placed his hat upon the hall rack, 
but the old coloured woman made no move to do his 
bidding. 

“What’s the matter.?” he queried. “Isn’t Miss 
Dudley in?” 

“She am wid de Majuh, who’s sick. She can’t see 
nobody.” 

“Did she tell you that?” 

“Yas’r.” 

“Did she say that you were to tell me that if I 
should come?” 

Before Aunt Frances’ thick lips could form the 
affirmative reply which was on her tongue, a soft 
voice descended from the upper hall. 

“I will be there in a moment. Doctor Glenning. 
Please be seated.” 

Aunt Frances turned her turbanned head and rolled 
her eyes in the direction from whence the voice came, 
then with a snort of disgust retreated, mouthing as 
she went in an undertone. 

John took a chair near the door which commanded 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


22S 


the full sweep of stairway, and thus he watched Julia 
descend a few moments later ; very sedately and with 
the hint of haughtiness in her air. He arose to take 
her hand, and he could not help contrasting this meet- 
ing with their first. Her hand in his tonight was 
almost lifeless, and there was a rebellious look in her 
dark eyes as she raised them briefly to his, he fancied 
accusingly. 

“I told you not to believe him !” was the mute cry 
in John’s heart, where little devils were beginning to 
cut and slash, but he smiled at her as he clasped her 
hand warmly, and asked of her health. 

“I am well, thank you.” 

How cold she was ! She remained standing, al- 
though there was another chair a short distance away. 
She did not look at him. She knew that she was 
hurting him, but she could not help it. She had 
wanted him so much the past week, and he had not 
come. And she had had nothing to do but think. 
Marston’s awful words never left her mind, and the 
more she dwelt upon them the more clearly she be- 
came convinced that the love of her life was centered 
upon John Glenning. She would not believe that 
which she had heard, but he had told her he had 
sinned — back there in J ericho ! But he had also s^-id 
that he had fought through and had come out clean ! 
She had sobbed half of one night through in her dis- 
tress, and had waited day by day for him to come. 
At last, on the very eve of the day he did come, she 
had given orders that she would not see him. But 
the sound of his voice had melted her resolve. She 


224 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


stood before him now, her heart hardened in that 
strange way which all lovers have, and which must 
forever remain inexplicable, seemingly as unrespon- 
sive as a being of marble. 

“Miss Dudley! — Miss Julia!” pleaded John, pur- 
posely throwing a note of tenderness in his voice, 
“what is wrong Can you not tell me.^ I should be 
so glad to do — anything for you !” 

A tremor shot over her. How strong and good his 
voice was ! 

“Father is unwell, that is all,” she answered, in the 
same expressionless voice. 

“For how long.? Is it — anything to cause you 
worry .?” 

“No.” 

Colder than ever was the monosyllable, and Julia 
felt herself growing wickeder and wickeder, and she 
knew that directly she would be bad enough not to 
respond in any wise to whatever he might say. 

But John had had some experience in this game 
of love. So he promptly did the very best thing 
possible; he withdrew. He deliberately picked up 
his hat and walked to the door, where he stopped and 
turned. 

“I suspect I had better go. Miss Dudley,” he an- 
nounced, in a most formal voice. 

“Very well — if you wish,” she added, with the 
adroitness of her sex. 

“I have reason to believe that I am an unwelcome 
guest this evening,” replied Glenning. “Be pleased 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


225 


to tell Major Dudley that I inquired after his health, 
and know that I am always at your service.” 

He bowed low, and without offering his hand in 
farewell — she making no sign to give him hers — he 
went out. 

Julia stood where he had so ceremoniously left her, 
amazement and anger uniting on her face. Then 
tears began to race down her cheeks, and she flew to 
the old sofa in the library to cry it out in the dark. 
She had not counted on this. He was cruel ; he cared 
nothing for her, as he had led her to believe he did. 
When she went upstairs in response to her father’s 
ring, she felt that she had never been so totally mis- 
erable in her life before. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


When Glenning reached the highway he did not go 
towards town, but turned in the opposite direction. 
He had a wild craving for solitude. He wanted to be 
away from everyone, to be alone in the night with his 
thoughts. These were not pleasant. His reception 
by Julia had been more severe than he had even 
anticipated. He did not believe that her conduct 
towards him reflected her true feelings, but how was 
he to know ! She had been an iceberg that night ; she 
had assumed a role of which he had not deemed her 
capable. That low-browed man in the lonely house 
was responsible. Would he win after all? Had his 
poisoned lies really done their work, and robbed hin? 
of the one perfect thing which he had grown to love 
with a fierce intensity? He stopped short, and was 
tempted to go back, and demand an explanation. 
Should he permit himself to be discouraged thus eas- 
ily ; should he lose her for no other reason than that 
she had been cold and proud to him? He could not 
go back tonight. Her heart was hardened against 
him, of that he was sure. He would let a few days 
pass and try again, and if she sent him away that 
would be the end. He resumed his swift walking, on 
and on, up hill and down, unconscious of any fatigue. 
He met no one. When he finally came to a halt on a 
small bridge he realized that his surroundings were 


[ 226 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


22T 


unfamiliar, and that he was several miles from town. 
He was in no hurry to return. He filled his pipe and 
fell to smoking, watching the starlight dimpling on 
the ripples of the tiny stream which fiowed under the 
bridge. In some moods this would have soothed him, 
but tonight it served as an irritant. He was at war 
with himself, and the gentle harmonies of Nature 
fretted by their very peace. He would have welcomed 
a storm. He would have been glad had the rain come 
driving its tiny fists in his face ; had the vivid light- 
ning staggered athwart the sk}’^; had thunderbolts 
shivered the earth about him ; had the demons of storm 
torn at the writhing trees. These things would have 
brought relief. He was keyed for strife, and the 
musical water, the calm starlight and the soft warm 
breeze maddened him. He pocketed his pipe with a 
gesture of annoyance and swung about in his tracks. 
A long walk lay before him, and he was glad. But 
action failed to bring relief. As he passed the Dudley 
home his breast was surging with unconquerable feel- 
ings. He felt that he was capable in that hour of 
leading a forlorn hope in battle. It was near mid- 
night when he reached the edge of town. Presently 
he overtook a pedestrian, but he passed him without 
a sidelong glance. Further on he passed another. 
At a bisecting street he saw a group, and as he went 
by them he noticed that they wore masks. His mind 
took a revolution and came back to the topic of the 
day. What did these sinister preparations mean in 
the dead of night? Had Goodloe died? Were these 
his avengers? Mob law was no new thing in Ken- 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


tucky. Were these men massing to wreak a summary 
and swift vengeance upon the marshal’s slayer? A 
sudden idea struck Glenning, and with it a species of 
wild joy. He turned up his coat collar, drew his hat 
over his eyes, and hurried on. He passed other men, 
all masked, but no one spoke to him or tried to inter- 
cept him. Directly he broke into a run, and in a few 
moments was at the j ail, and thundering on the panels 
of the door with his fist. The jailer must have been 
up, for he answered the summons at once, fully 
dressed. Evidently he expected trouble, for he was 
pale with fright, which he made no effort to hide, and 
he was trembling. 

“Quick!” said Glenning. “They’re coming! Arm 
yourself !” 

The man stood shaking in the doorway, but did not 
answer. John grasped him by the shoulder, and 
spoke again. 

“Don’t you hear? They’re coming for your pris- 
oner to hang him ! Protect him ! Get your pistol and 
guard the j ail !” 

“Who.? — ^W^hat?” stammered the terrified man. 

“The mob! I’ve seen them gathering! You’ve no 
time to lose!” 

“I’ll give ’em the keys if they ask me for ’em!” 
exclaimed the jailer. “They’d shoot me if I didn’t!” 

“You’re sworn to duty!” expostulated John. 
“Don’t let them murder this fellow. Has Goodloe 
died?” 

“I don’t know — but they can have the keys !” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


229 


He drew them from his pocket and jangled them 
in his hand, a pitiful object. 

“Listen!” whispered Glenning. “They’re coming. 
Hear their feet? Give me your keys I Bring me your 
pistols — quick I” 

He took the bunch of heavy keys from the unre- 
sisting fingers, and the jailer hastened indoors. He 
was back in a moment with a brace of revolvers which 
he held out eagerly. 

“Here they are 1” he managed to say. “Keep ’em 
off, doc, if you can !” 

“Go hide in the cellar, if you have one 1” returned 
John, contemptuously, and walked to the iron-barred 
door set in a stone wall, which gave entrance to the 
main passage of the jail. 

In front of this door was a small, elevated platform, 
not over six feet square. Above the door a lamp 
burned in an iron sconce set in the masonry. This 
was placed there for convenience in housing prisoners 
at all hours. John looked at the lamp a moment in 
doubt, then walked to it and turned the wick higher, 
so that the low flame sprang up and illuminated the 
platform upon which he stood, as well as the ground 
in front for several yards. As he faced about a reck- 
less, devil-may-care smile was on his lips. At one side 
lay a goods-box, some three feet tall. John stooped 
and dragged it to the platform, and stood it on end 
in front of him. His purpose was not to form a shield, 
for the frail pine of which it was made could not have 
withstood a bullet, and it came scarcely to his waist. 


S30 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


leaving exposed all vital parts. Glenning quietly 
dropped the keys in the long grass at the edge of the 
platform, took off his hat and placed it to one side, 
then lay his two revolvers upon the top of the box, 
gently rested his hand upon the butt of each, and 
waited. The revolvers were of forty-eight calibre, 
and brightly nickeled. They caught the gleam from 
the lamp, and shone suggestively. The jailer had 
disappeared. John had heard him locking and bar- 
ricading his door. In all probability he had deserted 
the place by some rear exit. 

The faint sound of many moving feet which had 
been audible a few minutes before had grown into a 
pronounced tread. As John stood and listened to 
this portentous advance, his heart did not quicken a 
beat. Indeed, he had grown calmer. The fever of 
unrest which had been tearing at him was departed 
now. Here was that danger for which he had vaguely 
hoped — here, before his face. Something like a hun- 
dred men came to a halt before the jail door, and at a 
respectful distance from the platform where a tall, 
bareheaded man stood, almost in a careless attitude. 
The mob was masked ; there was not a face visible. 

“Out with the keys. Bill!” jeered a man in the 
rear ; “we mean business I” 

The speaker had mistaken John for the jailer. 

“Bill — hell!” growled another, nearer the front. 
“That’s the new doc, but whut the damn fool’s doin’ 
here I don’t know !” 

Glenning had not said a word, nor had he shifted 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^Sl 


his position. But his most searching scrutiny had 
failed to reveal the presence of a single weapon among 
the besiegers. 

“On ! On !” cried some one in the rear. “Ain’t 
there enough of us to ’tend to that feller.^” 

They began pushing, and the mob surged closer. 
Those nearest the platform were within a dozen feet 
of the solitary watcher now, but there was no menace 
in their attitude. Glenning had been sharply viewing 
the personnel of this mass of men, and from apparel, 
bearing, and general appearance he judged most of 
them to be of the rougher element. The three or four 
in front, who were evidently the leaders, may have 
been gentlemen. It was to these Glenning now spoke. 

“Good evening,” he said, pleasantly. “Perhaps I 
know you and perhaps I don’t, for you have seen fit 
to hide your faces. You have come after Hank.” 

His accents were deliberate, and he appeared as 
much at ease as if he were chatting with friends in 
his own home. His last sentence was not a question, 
but a declaration. 

“Yes, we’ve come after Hank ’n’ we’re goin’ to 
git ’im !” came a rough voice from one side. 

A leader turned. 

“Keep still, will you?” Then to Glenning. “May 
I ask by what authority you take your place there 
with two loaded pistols? Are you a sworn deputy, 
or officer of any sort?” 

“I am not, as you well know, and I have no au- 
thority, other than a strong feeling for fair play. 


232 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


May I, in turn, ask by what authority you come at 
dead of night to defy the laws of your State, and 
seek to place a crime upon your soul?” 

“We have the law of might, and that’s enough. 
Stand aside now, or take the consequences !” 

The man was deeply in earnest. 

“Had it not struck you that you were talking to 
the wrong man?” asked Glenning. “Do you want to 
enter this place? Then the jailer is the man you 
want to see. What’s the use of battering these doors 
down and arousing the town when you might get the 
keys from him, and maybe get in quietly? You need 
some one to lead you, men. What good is it to stand 
dickering with me? Rouse the jailer! He’s the man 
you want to deal with!” 

Before the words had left his mouth three or four 
shadowy forms had detached themselves from the 
group and run to the front door of the jailer’s resi- 
dence, which connected with the prison proper, only 
a wall intervening. They thumped, and pounded, and 
called, forgetting caution in their untrained zeal. 
They gained no response, and, fearing to force an 
entrance there, returned to their friends, baffled. 

“Knock ’im down | * Git ’im out o’ the 

way !” The cries came again from the rear. 

“You’ve told Bill we were coming,” said the man 
who had formerly spoken, “and he’s run off, or hid- 
den. We can’t waste time. Stand down! We are 
armed, and you will suffer if you resist !” 

“Wouldn’t you rather have the keys?” asked John, 
simply, “than to run the risk of bringing the citizens 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


who love order about your ears? You can’t force 
that door without dynamite.” 

“How can we get the keys when we can’t get Bill ?” 
demanded the spokesman, led on to conversation in 
spite of his haste by the apparently ingenuous frank- 
ness of the man before him. 

“Bill gave them to me,” answered John, naturally, 
“not ten minutes ago.” 

“Then you have them? Pass them over, please, 
at once, or we shall be compelled to take them from 
you by force.” 

“I haven’t them now.” 

“You’re fooling with us !” retorted the man, 
angrily. “For the last time, get out of the way !” 

“I’m not fooling you! I had the keys in my 
hand, but I have lost them. They are not on my 
person.” 

“To hell wid you ’n’ de keys bofe!” exclaimed a 
burly form standing well back in the shadows, and 
with that it made a rush. The figure was to one side ; 
there was no one else in line. Swiftly John raised the 
revolver in his right hand, and fired low. His wish 
was only to cripple, and he succeeded. The man 
dropped with a howl of pain and fright, and his mask 
fell off, revealing the face of a brutal looking negro. 
He sat up and nursed his shattered knee, and mouthed 
curses. 

“Shame on you, men of Macon!” cried Glenning, 
standing erect and pale under the flickering light of 
the iron sconce. “Do you bring such a thing as that 
with you to hang a white man, however low?” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^84 


“Nobody told ’im to come!” called a voice. “He 
hooked on!” 

“Listen to me a minute, men !” resumed Glenning, 
speaking very earnestly. “Most of you don’t realize 
what you want to do tonight. You’ve come out to 
commit murder. Do you know that — murder ! Every 
man among you would be guilty of that crime did 
you break into this jail and drag out the fellow you 
are after and string him to a limb. What good would 
it do? I know what the Bible says — ‘An eye for an 
eye and a tooth for a tooth’ and ‘Whosoever sheddeth 
man’s blood by man shall his blood be shed.’ But 
let the law do it, men. If you do this thing you will 
be as lawless and as guilty as that cringing thing 
back there in its cell. You would deserve his fate! 
Let us not behave as barbarians. Don’t make the 
records of our State blacker than they are. I’m not 
here to fight. I know you can overcome me. Acci- 
dent alone apprised me of what was going forward 
tonight, and I’ve come here to try and show you where 
you’re wrong. Don’t let tomorrow’s papers tell the 
news to the civilized world that down in Kentucky a 
mob trespassed the law and hung a prisoner by night ! 
It’s been done too often already. We’re good people, 
but our blood runs hot, and we’re hasty. We act 
first, and think after, which is wrong. You haven’t 
thought this thing over. Somebody started it and 
you fell in with the plan. Go home now, and go to 
bed, and in the morning you’ll thank God that your 
consciences are clear !” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


235 


For a moment there was a tense silence, broken 
only by the low groans of the suffering negro. 

“He shot Dick Goodloe, and he’s got to die ! Dick 
was my friend!” 

It was the ringleader speaking, dogged and unper- 
suaded. 

John leaned forward suddenly, and looked at the 
man. 

“Is the marshal dead ?” he asked. 

“He wasn’t dead half an hour ago, but he was 
mighty low,” came a voice from the darkness. 

“There!” exclaimed John, triumphantly, standing 
erect. “You have no sort of right to take this man 
now! You shall not hang him! I’ll make a compact 
with you, gentlemen — fellow citizens ! Send at once 
to the home of Dick Goodloe. If he is dead. I’ll find 
you the keys, and step aside. If he lives, you are to 
go home and leave this jail unmolested. Do you 
agree .P” 

Various voices expressed assent to the plan, and 
even the ringleader nodded acquiescence, without 
speaking. 

A messenger was accordingly dispatched at once, 
a youth with nimble legs, who started on a run. Dur- 
ing the period of waiting the men were quiet, though 
some conversed in low tones. No one paid any atten- 
tion to the wounded negro, who attempted to drag 
himself away, but found the effort so painful that he 
gave it up. In a short time the messenger returned 
with his news. Goodloe was sleeping, and Doctor 


236 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Kale said that his chances for recovery were better. 
Instantly the crowd melted as silently as they had 
come, and soon Glenning found himself alone before 
the iron-barred door, while there upon the grass be- 
fore him the negro moaned ceaselessly. There was 
no resentment in John’s heart towards the object his 
bullet had stricken down. Now he merely saw some- 
thing in distress which needed his help. He lifted the 
lamp from its socket and went towards the negro, 
who tried to shrink away at his approach. 

“Be still !” ordered Glenning, and placing the lamp 
on the ground, he began an examination. 

The hurt was not serious. The knee-cap was shat- 
tered, but the tough bone had deflected the bullet. 

“Where do you live.^” asked John, brusquely. 

The negro told him, stuttering with fright. 

“You belong in there !” returned the doctor, sternly, 
waving his hand towards the dark mass of stone be- 
hind him. “Don’t you ever get tangled up in any- 
thing like this again. Now you can’t walk a step, 
and won’t for some time to come.” 

He took his handkerchief and bound it about the 
wounded limb. 

“I’ll have a wagon here to take you home in a few 
minutes,” he continued, “and I’ll come in the morning 
and dress that knee.” 

Then, without waiting to hear the profuse thanks 
and humble apologies which followed, he replaced the 
lamp, secured the keys and the revolvers, and bent 
his steps in the direction of Main street. He stopped 
at the livery stable and gave instructions for removing 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


2S7 


the negro, then went to his office, tired, victorious, but 
unsatisfied. 

What did it all amount to, he asked himself, wear- 
ily, when the love in his soul received no answering 
affection. Of what account were good deeds, if his 
own life was empty. His recent thrilling experience 
faded from his mind, and in its stead the sweetly al- 
luring face of Julia came up before him. She was 
always with him now; waking, sleeping, reading, or 
during his professional calls. She had crept into his 
heart completely, and her coming had been wonder- 
fully charming — unlike that other, which had thrilled 
him with a painful joyl The other was gone now. 
He felt that the awful hold had been shaken off at 
last — if only Julia had not treated him as she did 
that evening ! Such things tend to throw a man back, 
but his hardly won battle had been too dear an ex- 
perience for him to waver now. He would be strong, 
though the future were empty. He was facing the 
glass door giving onto the landing at the head of the 
stairway, sitting dejectedly by a small table whereon 
a lamp was burning. He had thrown off his coat and 
hat, for the atmosphere indoors was almost stifling. 
He did not think of seeking rest, for, though tired, 
he was not sleepy. It seemed to him that his affection 
for the Major’s daughter had grown immeasurably 
since darkness had fallen. His thoughts had dwelt 
constantly upon her, and in his heart he had called 
her many tender names, and had imagined his lips 
upon her hair, and forehead, and cheeks, and mouth. 
He dropped his chin to his breast and closed his eyes. 


238 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


his forehead showing deep furrows beneath the 
straight black locks of overfalling hair. “Julia! 
Julia 1” he said in his mind; “don’t treat me this way ! 
I have served you faithfully from the moment my eyes 
first saw you, and I have loved you almost as long. 
Believe me, little girl, and let me know that you care 
for me, that I may speak all that is in my heart. 
Julia! Julia!” Again and again the single word 
throbbed through his mind, as though an imperishable 
record was in his heart, and every beat thereof sent 
out the message on the current of his blood. * ^ * 

What was that! He stopped breathing, but did not 
open his eyes. He felt that she was near him! All 
in a moment he knew that the cry of his heart had 
been answered. He heard steps, light steps, barely 
audible through the closed door. They came swiftly — 
tip-tip-tip-tip-tip-tip — up the stair — then silence. 

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. 

“Good God!” he cried, springing to his feet and 
overturning the chair in which he sat. Then grasp- 
ing the small table with both hands he leaned across 
it and peered at the door, his face graying with each 
second that passed. She stood there, looking at him, 
such terror in her eyes that it made him tremble, ab- 
solutely fearless though he was. She wore a dark 
dress, and a dark veil was wound about her head, 
leaving the white oval of her face, with its terror- 
haunted eyes. The next moment she had entered the 
room and shut the door behind her, and was coming 
towards him like a sweet wraith. Yet he could say 
nothing. He had yearned for her and called her in 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


his soul, and she was before him now! There were 
new lines upon his troubled face, for he could not 
understand. What could it mean.^ It was past mid- 
night; between one and two o’clock, he knew. She 
was alone. These were his apartments. He slept in 
the one where they now stood. She stopped within 
arm’s length, pale and scared, her large eyes burning 
with the burden of the secret she carried. She spoke 
first, hurriedly and low. The sound of her voice 
brought John to his senses. 

“Has he come.^ Has he come.^” she asked, in a 
half whisper, while the interlaced fingers over her 
breast writhed from the stress of her emotion. 

“Dear Miss Julia!” responded Glenning, taking 
her by the arm, “pray be seated — but no, you must 
not stay here a moment! I — what is it.'* What is 
wrong 

“Has he been here.^ Oh, tell me! Has anything 
happened.^” 

Glenning got into his coat as he answered. 

“I have just come in. I went into the country after 
leaving you. Who is it? Marston again.'*” 

A sob, half hysterical, struggled from the girl’s 
throat. 

“Yes — yes ! He will come ! He said he would ! 
He’s determined to kill you ! Oh ! I couldn’t stand it !” 

She put her hands over her eyes, and shivered. 

“Who is with you. Miss Julia.? * * * You 

must not remain here another moment. You know 
walls have ears and eyes, even at this hour of the 
night. Who came with you.?” 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


.^40 

“No one; who could come with me? * * * But 

you! You must not stay here tonight. Perhaps he 
came and found you were out. He will return. 
Promise me!” 

Before he could answer they heard a sound which 
each knew; the pounding hoofs of a horse ridden at 
full speed. 

“It is he!” gasped Julia, her face colourless as 
marble. “It is too late !” 

The hard-ridden horse stopped below with a crash 
and a rattle of small stones. 

“Courage!” whispered John, leaning towards the 
girl. “Trust me ; all will be well !” 

Turning the lamp low, he quickly bore it into the 
front office and placed it upon his desk there in a far 
corner of the room. In an instant he was by her side 
again and had her hand in his, and even in the peril 
of that moment he felt her clinging to him, and his 
heart exulted. The apartment was now in almost 
total darkness. 

“Come !” he whispered, and opening the stair door 
wide he led her out into the passage, and down it for a 
dozen feet. Here not a ray of light came, but he 
placed her behind him, holding her hand all the while 
in a close grasp. There was a heavy step below — a 
stumble — a muttered curse. 

“He has nerved himself with whiskey !” was the low 
message Glenning sent over his shoulder. “Be per- 
fectly quiet; there is nothing to fear.” 

Slowly a heavy form ascended the stair, feeling its 
way along the wall, and halting now and then. A 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


241 


head and shoulders were dimly outlined, then the 
figure of Devil Marston stood in the open doorway. 
He waited a moment to steady himself, then entered. 
Glenning leaned forward to listen. The invader made 
no efforts to soften his movements, and presently John 
knew he had entered the front office. Then he placed 
his arm around the slight form by his side and gently 
drew her forward. Almost carrying her, they glided 
down the stair like shadows, then John took her arm 
in his, and they hurried along the deserted streets. 
Not a word was spoken until they had almost reached 
the Dudley home. 

“Why did you do this.?*” asked John, an almost 
overpowering desire to clasp her in his arms assailing 
him as he felt her leaning heavily upon him, and 
thought of the significance of it all. 

“There was no one else,” she murmured, and sighed 
as she became conscious of the nearness of home. 

“Tell me about it,” he said, and he knew that she 
drew closer to him in the starlight. 

“It was awful !” she replied. “I thought it would 
kill me. It was near ten o’clock. Father was asleep, 
and I slipped out into the yard to be alone, and enjoy 
the night. I had strolled down the avenue to the gate, 
and was standing there when he passed, going towards 
his home. I wore a white dress, and he saw me. He 
pulled up his horse, and without warning told me that 
he was going to square accounts with you that night, 
and get you out of his way. Then he laughed and 
rode on. I thought he was crazy. I went back to the 
house and tried to forget it, but I could not sleep. 


242 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


I knew he was capable of anything. There was no 
one to send — Peter would not have done. So I came.” 

They had entered the avenue. The segment of a 
late moon was pushing its way through some ragged 
clouds above the eastern horizon. 

^*‘Wliy did you come.'^” repeated John. 

They had reached the portico before she answered. 

“To save you from him,” she said, standing upon 
the step, so that her face was almost on a level with 
his own. 

“But why? — why? What motive caused you to 
jeopardize your good name, to place yourself in a 
position which would compromise you forever were 
it known. Was it friendship alone?” 

“I cannot tell you !” 

“You can — you must!” 

His face was almost fierce in the wan light, and his 
eyes were glowing. 

“Not now; not yet.” 

There was a note of sadness in her voice, and her 
eyes fell. 

Glenning took her hand, and came closer to her. 

“Little girl, I must know !” 

She looked up, and her brave, truthful eyes met his 
squarely. 

“There is yet something in the way,” she said, smil- 
ing as through pain, “before you may — ” 

“What is it?” he broke in, eagerly. “Speak!” 

“Jericho !” 

Then she was gone, and he was alone with the 
memory of the past. 


CHAPTER XV. 


In the year of grace in which this story moved, the 
Macon fair began the tenth day of July. All things 
were now leading up to it, for July had come, and 
the days, while really long, passed quickly. 

Glenning had a fearful task before him. Only once 
since that memorable night when so many things had 
happened — when he had been almost scorned by the 
girl he loved; when he had held a mob at bay and 
saved a worthless scoundrel’s life; when he had re- 
ceived a young lady caller in his office at two o’clock 
in the morning; when he had walked home with her 
to be ruthlessly wakened from his blissful love-dream 
— only once since that night had he been able to get 
himself to that point of moral courage which would 
enable him to make his confession, and plead his cause 
unhampered and with a conscience at rest. And in 
that hour when his soul was trembling on the verge of 
a full disclosure of all that had passed during that 
hateful, bitter-sweet time in Jericho, an interruption 
had come at the inopportune moment, and his chance 
went, for when they were together again alone that 
very evening he knew that it was impossible for him 
to speak. He knew, too, that possession and a full 
reciprocity of affection would never be his until he 
had lain bare that hidden portion of his life. He 
wanted to tell it ; he wanted her to know. It was not 


[ 243 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


M4i 

a desire for concealment which held his tongue. That 
night when they stood in the wan moonlight by the 
portico steps, he had forgotten the untold secret. He 
knew only that she was before him, very close to him ; 
that he had held her hand, had, for a few moments, 
pressed her young body to his as they went down the 
steps at his office; knew that she had filled him and 
thrilled him with a rare happiness, and that life with- 
out her would be commonplace, sunless and dreary. 
Another moment his consuming love would have been 
pouring from his lips in fervent words of fire, when 
he heard that name which he had come to hate — 
“Jericho !” 

In the days which followed he fought with himself 
again, and some there are who will know what this 
means, and others there are who will not. But of all 
battles fought, surely this is the most terrible, when 
a man fights himself. It was not the old struggle with 
which he had contended night upon night after his 
arrival in Macon. That had been horrible, for the 
devil and an angel had locked in his heart then, and 
their efforts had torn him pitiably. But his angel had 
won in the end. The red-gold hair and the eyes of 
wine came no more to make a picture of living tempta- 
tion above his pillow. They were banished. Now 
the same devil had come again, and the same angel, 
and it was all to do over again. This time the devil 
told him to keep his mouth shut, or tell only a part 
of the truth, since he had already been fool enough 
to say that something had occurred back in Jericho. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


245 


The angel bade him lay the whole story bare; this 
was the only honourable course. John was aware 
that the outcome of this fight must be decided by his 
attitude. The combatant to which he lent his aid 
would overcome the other. And while he knew per- 
fectly well what he should do, the devil pulled steadily 
the other way, whispering all the time that to speak 
the truth would mean total loss, and that a partial 
falsehood, at least, would be excusable, considering 
all that was at stake. 

The new doctor’s leisure hours were getting less 
frequent now. His remarkable success in treating 
the Scribbenses had all at once lifted him on a wave 
of popularity. Then, too, the story of how he had 
whipped Devil Marston in fair fight had gone abroad 
some way, and this, coupled to his defense of the jail, 
had thrown him in the full glare of the lime-light, and 
had also raised him on a sort of pedestal for the good 
people of Macon. They had never had anyone in 
their quiet community who could “do things” before. 
They began to hold him in a kind of awe, and to honour 
him in every way they could. Some of the most sub- 
stantial recognition came from the wealthy popula- 
tion, who sent for him when illness required the pres- 
ence of a physician. Glenning began to realize that 
his position was secure and his future assured. 

One day Dillard joined him on the street, and ac- 
companied him to his office. He was worried, as usual. 
He preceded his opening remark by shaking his head 
solemnly. 




THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“It’s no use, Glenning; it’s no use.” 

Delivering this characteristic speech in a despond- 
ent tone, he walked to the window, and looked out. 

“What’s no use?” came the sharp, quick question, 
charged with irrepressible vim and a trace of nervous- 
ness. 

“He won’t do it! He won’t do it!” was the still 
doleful reply. 

“Stop your riddles and talk sense !” snapped John. 

Dillard turned at this. 

“I told you we’d catch Marston in some crooked 
work, but I’ve changed my mind. He’s a sly fox. 
He’s scented something. I’ve watched him all right, 
and he’s been straight as a shingle.” 

“I don’t see that it matters now,” replied John, 
coolly, busy at his desk. 

“Why?” 

“We don’t want to ruin him just for the fun of it, 
do we? It was to help the Dudleys we planned his 
downfall. That necessity is removed now. Of course 
he should be punished for holding that dividend back, 
but that alone hardly merits the penitentiary, espe- 
cially since our little plan about the insurance worked. 
They’re easy now, but we must see that no more tricks 
like that are played at the bank. Marston’s behaving 
very well now. At least he has quit annoying our 
friends.” 

“You’re a devilish funny fellow!” commented 
Dillard. 

“And I want him to be on hand at the races,” con- 
tinued J ohn. “He has entered the pick of his stables. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


24)7 


Two of them — ^the best he has — go against The 
Prince. The colt will win. I want Marston to see 
him win. I want him to see a Dudley horse walk away 
from the fastest thing in a Marston stable !” 

He swung around in his chair with flashing eyes. 

“You’re pretty confident, aren’t you.^” 

“No more than I have cause to be.” 

“Do you know the private record of that big black, 
Imperial Don.'^” 

“No, and I don’t care to. I don’t care if it’s two 
minutes flat ! I tell you, Tom Dillard, there’s nothing 
on four legs that can outrun The Prince! It is un- 
canny I Have you ever seen him go with a loosened 
rein.? It takes your breath away to watch him! 
Peter is going to work him out this afternoon at the 
track. Miss Dudley and I are going. When you 
come back you will understand what I mean when I 
say this colt was born of the wind and the lightning !” 

Dillard flushed at the mention of Julia’s name and 
looked embarrassed. John wondered. Had the poor 
fellow cast his die, and lost.? His own uncertain posi- 
tion brought a warm feeling of sympathy to his heart, 
but he could say nothing personal. 

“I don’t suspect I can come,” answered Dillard, in 
a changed voice, and John no longer doubted it was 
all over with his friend. “But I hope you’re right. 
It would give me a lot of pleasure to see the Dudleys 
win over Marston.” 

“There are plenty of people around here who will 
enjoy that pleasure,” muttered Glenning, turning to 
his writing materials. 


248 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“I’ll be on hand at the race, anyway,” said Dillard, 
walking to the door, “and I’ll keep on watching 
Marston.” 

John’s engagement with Julia was at five in the 
afternoon. The days were extremely hot, and it had 
not been thought wise to allow the colt his exercise 
until the sun had declined somewhat. The Prince was 
green. He was young. Conditions which older and 
hardened horses might not feel would likely affect him 
seriously. He had been sheltered and pampered since 
earliest colthood. Really he had not been given a 
chance to prove what was in him. The run this after- 
noon was a part of the process of hardening. The 
race wherein his name made one was to be a mighty 
game for blood and brawn. It was no place for a 
weakling. 

Old Peter, sly and wise with his many years, 
years which had been given almost entirely to learn- 
ing lore about horses, and acquainting himself with 
their moods and disposition — Old Peter knew all 
this, and he was making ready. With all his enthusi- 
asm and confidence, he knew there was scant hope 
of his beloved colt winning in three straight heats. 
The race might be drawn out to four or five, or even 
six or eight, and then the horse with the greatest en- 
durance would be the horse to win. But Peter knew 
what he knew. He knew that The Prince’s sire, and 
his grandsire, had been noted for their staying quali- 
ties, and though the colt was slender of barrel and 
limb, yet hidden somewhere within that satin-smooth 
skin was power to go indefinitely. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^49 


Glenning presented himself at Julia’s door 
promptly. She received him cordially, but with a 
sort of maidenly reserve which he had noticed ever 
since that night when she had almost asked him to 
lift the veil which hid his past. She was not quite as 
open and free as upon former occasions. Her ap- 
pearance was charming, as usual. She disdained or- 
naments, a small cluster of some delicate flowers or a 
single blossom which had mayhap struck her fancy, 
being the only attempt she ever made to adorn herself 
beyond the delightfully simple costumes, which were 
always graceful and airy. Today she came to John 
swinging by its ribbons her hah — a boy’s broad- 
brimmed straw — and wearing a gingham dress, belted 
at the waist and becomingly ruffled. 

The man’s heart surged as his eyes beheld her. 

“Oh, let’s walk!” she exclaimed, as she caught 
sight of a horse and buggy on the driveway. 

“Certainly, if you wish. But the roads are dusty ; 
even driving is unpleasant.” 

He tried to speak naturally, but invisible Angers 
had him by the throat, and his words were strained. 

She flashed a quick glance at him. 

“That’s one reason why I proposed walking — be- 
cause of the dusty roads. We’ll go through, you 
know. Back through the garden, over a sparsely 
wooded upland, and down to the track. You did not 
know we were so near, did you.^” 

“No ; but that will be fine. ♦ * * Is the Major 

in the library.?^ I should like to pay my respects, if 
nothing more than to greet him.” 


S50 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Yes ; walk in. He’s reading, and seems much im- 
proved. He’ll be glad to see you.” 

Major Dudley looked up from his book as they 
appeared for a moment in the doorway, side by side. 
He smiled, and essayed to rise. Then John was at his 
side, gently pressing him back into his chair. 

“Sit still, I beg you !” he said, taking the thin, soft 
hand of the old aristocrat. “I’ve only a moment, for 
Miss Dudley has promised to go with me to the track, 
and we mustn’t delay. I’m glad to see you looking 
so well. Major.” 

“My health seems excellent, suh! But I cannot 
undergo any exertion. My haht is gettin’ a little 
tahed, it seems, but it’s been workin’ long enough to 
deserve a rest. Won’t you take a chair, suh?” 

“Another time, thank you. The Prince is in fine 
trim, I believe?” 

“Great colt, suh ! Peter reports his condition 
puhfect.” 

“You have no apprehension in regard to the race?” 

The old gentleman’s eyes shot fire under their gray 
brows, and his body became more erect. 

“I’m as satisfied he’ll win as I am the sun will rise 
tuhmorrow !” 

“Good! I share your belief to the full. Let me 
say good-bye now. The sun will not last much over 
an hour.” 

A minute later Julia and John were passing 
through the garden, side by side. 

“Of course you read in the paper about Uncle 
Arthur’s death?” she said. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


251 


John flushed guiltily, and he gave her a covert 
look. Her face was a little shadowed, and very sweet. 

“Yes,” he answered, seeking vainly in his mind for 
an excuse to change the subject. 

“It was all very queer,” she resumed, puckering 
her brow and shaking her head slowly. “The letter 
from the lawyer was so formal, and was not explicit. 
We have feared there was some mistake, as we have 
not heard from Uncle Arthur for so many years. 
Father wrote to the lawyer asking for further details, 
but has heard nothing from him.” 

“It was queer,” admitted Glenning, feeling the 
weight of his duplicity, while his conscience writhed 
as though a white hot iron had touched it. 

“It saddened us so much to think that he was com- 
ing back to us, and did not live to get home. Wasn’t 
it dreadful 

“Indeed it was.” 

John drew a long breath, and fidgeted inwardly. 
They had reached the stone fence bounding the gar- 
den, and he seized his chance. 

“Let me help you over!” he cried, leaping to the 
flat top of the fence and extending his hand. 

She took it, and allowed herself to be drawn up. 
Then he descended and swung her to the ground with 
her hands in his. A gently sloping, slightly wooded 
hill stretched up before them, and as they began the 
leisurely ascent she spoke again. 

“You know that local news comes to us rather 
slowly, and we have just learned of what you did to 
Mr. Marston — ^that day.” 


S52 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


Her voice was low, and she did not look at him. 

John’s face darkened, but he did not answer on the 
moment. 

“I felt that I should speak to you,” went on Julia ; 
“it was because of me you did it. You were very 
brave.” 

Her face was aflame now. 

“Yes,” he replied. “The cur had mistreated you in 
some way, and I could not stand it !” 

Here was his chance to go ahead and tell her all, 
for there was no possibility of interruption. But he 
did not speak. Why, he could not say. They walked 
on in silence. Soon they were going down a rain- 
washed hill-side where it was necessary he should 
assist her. He offered her his hand without speaking, 
and she took it dumbly. So they reached the level 
again, and went towards the fair ground, now only 
a short distance off. They halted in front of the 
grandstand. Several horses were on the track, but 
their eyes were quickly drawn to the lithe, graceful 
figure of The Prince. He had just come from the 
track stables, and was walking down the home stretch 
with a withered, monkey-like figure perched upon his 
back. Uncle Peter saw the twain, and guided the colt 
up to the low fence enclosing the track. 

“Well, Uncle Peter, are we too late.^” asked 
Glenning. 

The old fellow removed his tattered hat, and bowed. 

“No, suh. I had jes’ rid ’im out de stall. I gwi’ 
limber ’im up treckly.” 

“How is he running.?” queried Julia, anxiously. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


253 


“Lak a skeered dawg, young missus !” 

“What horses are those over yonder?” 

“Couple o’ plugs dat Deb’l Marston sont out 
hyar !” he replied, contemptuously. “I’ll go by dem 
lak dey’s hitched to a pos’ !” 

“Are you sleeping with this horse every night, as 
I suggested you should?” asked John. 

“Yes, suh! Him ’n’ me, we bunks tuhgedder, ’n’ 
he has de bes’ bed, too !” 

“He will bear close watching, and as the time draws 
nearer for the race you must be doubly careful.” 

“Dat I will, suh — doctuh. Yo’ may ’pen’ on me. 
Now ’bout dis heah boss I’m a-settin’ straddle uv.” 
He fairly choked with pride and emotion as he moved 
his bony hand up the richly maned neck caressingly. 
“Dis hoss am de none-sich hoss, whut means dar ain’t 
anudder’n lak ’im nowhahs. He runs lak a pig’n fly, 
goin’ home. ’N’ he’s had de bes’ o’ kyar ! Fo’t-night, 
come tuhmorrer, I’s been out hyar, rain ur shine, ’n’ 
I rub dis hoss twel he shine lak a new stove. I feed 
’im de right numbah yeahs o’ cawn; de right size 
bunch o’ hay. Den I gits on ’im ’n’ rides ’im roun’ 
dis track twel he drips lather lak soap-suds. A man 
frum town stood right dar whah you is dis minute 
de udder day, ’n’ he tol’ me dat he couldn’t see ’im 
w’en he passed — he wuz dat fas’. Den I rub ’im dry 
’n’ put on de blanket, ’n’ mek he bed, ’n’ lock de do’ 
’n’ we bofe go ’sleep. ’N’ dat w’at I g\vi’ do twel de 
day come w’en he win de race ! ’N’ he gwi’ win^ sim- 
ply ’kase he can’t lose !” 

He stopped for breath, and the knotty hand which 


254 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


rested on the colt’s neck trembled. His recital had 
moved him, for it was truly a matter of life and death 
to him. 

John took out his watch. 

“If you will pardon the suggestion, Miss Julia, I 
will say that we had better let Uncle Peter have The 
Prince go. It will be dark soon.” 

“Certainly. * * * Ride him around the track, 

Uncle Peter. Let us see what there is in him !” 

“So please yo’, young missus, hit bein’ de bes’ 
way. I’ll staht ’im out roun’ de track, ’n’ let ’im lope 
easy-lak de fus’ time roun’. Den, w’en he git soop’le 
up de fus’ time roun’, I gwi’ run 'im! Yo’ watch, 
young missus — I say I gwi’ run ^imT' 

His wrinkled face irradiated with a great joy. 
Uncle Peter gathered up the reins and clenched the 
slender body with his knees. Gracefully and slowly 
The Prince swung around the oval enclosure, reveal- 
ing such marvelous freedom from exertion, such spon- 
taneity of action, that the faces of the two spectators 
standing in the shadow of the grandstand expressed 
almost amazement. John shifted his position a little 
nearer to Julia — he wanted so much to take her hand 
— and they watched in silence. The small figure on 
The Prince’s back was humped over after the ap- 
proved attitude of a jockey, and was rising and fall- 
ing with each long undulation as though part of the 
animal he rode. The twain by the fence kept silent. 
Back on the grandstand was a small group of men, 
also watching The Prince. Julia’s heart swelled with 
pride as her own brave colt came down the stretch 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


255 


towards them, gradually increasing his speed. He 
flashed past them with the lithe movements of one of 
the feline tribe, and as his nose was set to the next 
half mile he began to let himself out. His rider did 
not carry a whip. A slow slackening of the tightly- 
held reins was all that was necessary for quicker ac- 
tion. The Prince was born to run; to be held back 
was galling and unnatural. Rapidly and more 
rapidly his feet rose and fell, his movements as regular 
as the mechanism of a clock. Faster and faster he 
went, each prodigious leap increasing his momentum. 
When he swung into the home stretch the second time 
he was coming beautifully, and with a degree of swift- 
ness which dumfounded both the girl and the man. 
Like an autumn leaf torn from a tree and whirled 
away on a cyclone. The Prince went by his group of 
friends. 

“Splendid !” muttered John Glenning, intense pleas- 
ure showing on his face. 

The girl turned to him with eyes which almost hurt. 

“Can Marston’s entries possibly beat him.'’” she 
implored, impetuously raising her hand to his arm, 
but refraining from laying it there. 

“Nothing that runs on four feet can beat him!” 
declared John, enthusiastically. “And I, like you, 
have seen horses run ever since I was big enough to 
know what a horse was. Ah I he is a noble animal — 
and how gracefully he runs I No wonder you love 
him, and I congratulate you on possessing him !” 

Her lips parted for a quick reply, but she stopped 
and gazed down the track instead, where The Prince 


256 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


and his rider had at last come to a halt. She had 
started to say what was in her heart, to tell him that 
he had saved the colt for her twice, and that she 
would never forget it. Then that awful barrier had 
thrust itself before her eyes ; that strange barrier of 
his terrible silence. She could not be free with him ; 
she could not be as she was in the first days when they 
had met. Then she could say all she wished to say, 
but that was before she had awakened; before new 
thoughts and feelings and vague, unguessed desires 
had blossomed in her soul, at times almost drugging 
her with their subtle perfume. It was so different 
now. The world had changed. She had burst the 
chrysalis of girlhood, and her woman’s nature was 
surging up in her, dominant, primordial, searching, 
calling, demanding its own ! It gave her pain. She 
knew that with that hidden past cleared away, and 
the love words on his lips, she would have come to his 
arms with a sigh of content, and found rest, and peace, 
and joy. How he had proven himself! He was a 
man; gentle, strong, modest, brave. He was the in- 
carnated hero of her girl dreams, standing this mo- 
ment by her side — and yet how far away he was ! 
Why would he not come closer I Surely he knew she 
would forgive and offer him the sweet haven of her 
arms, the solace of her lips and the caresses of her 
hands 1 Surely he loved her, for he was not deceitful, 
and that night, that awful, blissful night he had taken 
her to him and shielded her and led her home, and had 
plead with her for some tenderness. She could not 
give it then, though her heart was aching with love. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


257 


She could not give it now, unless he would unseal his 
lips, and lay bare the hidden years. It was the test, 
and she knew it. She acknowledged it with inward 
fear, and her soul quaked. She could do nothing but 
wait. Hers was the bitter part; the hard portion. 
To wait — wait — and daily place a restraining hand 
upon her love ; to crush it down into submission hour 
after hour as it rose up and demanded its own. How 
long.? How long.? Already it seemed ages, and his 
presence had come to bring suffering. 

Twilight was stealing over the earth. A gentle 
breeze came up from the south, laden with the scents 
of late summer. Peter was bringing The Prince 
back for an opinion of the colt’s performance. 

“You have done well with him, Peter,” said Julia. 
“I shall tell father how nicely you ride him, and of 
his remarkable speed. He will be pleased. Good-bye. 
Take good care of him.” 

Glenning felt that he should add a word, but some- 
how it wouldn’t come. Julia’s voice had sounded un- 
familiar to his ears. He had been keenly conscious 
of the swift change in her after the horse had passed. 
He had seen her start to speak, then close her lips, 
and he had wondered what the unuttered words could 
have been. Then he grew troubled as he stood si- 
lently by her side, watching her averted face. A 
shadow had fallen upon it, blotting out the bright 
expression of joy. He saw it change as a sun-kissed 
landscape might when a cloud veils the sun. Her 
sweet mouth had relaxed into a pathetic little droop ; 
the rich undercolour had receded from her cheeks; 


258 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


her eyes had shaped themselves to a look of weary 
sadness. Even her rounded, pliant figure seemed to 
lose part of its grace, and to sag of its own weight. 
He saw the breeze lifting the little curls upon her 
neck and ruffling the waving hair behind her ears. 
Then suddenly that which had been slumbering in 
him woke. It woke with a thrust like a keen knife- 
blade, sending a sharp quiver of pain throughout his 
body. Up, up it fought its way, ruthlessly tearing a 
path for its progress, and a voice spoke in his soul. 
It was his conscience which he had numbed, and 
smothered, and choked, free at last, and with a merci- 
less goad in its hand. He saw how wrong he had 
been. He saw that, physically brave as he knew him- 
self to be, morally he had been a coward! He had 
let her suffer — her, whom he told himself he loved! 
He had weakly remained negative, drifting with the 
days, when a positive course was the only one con- 
sistent with honour. He had shielded his own feelings, 
and sacrificed hers. He had dwelt in guilty security, 
and had stretched her, sinless, upon the altar ! How 
sordid, and cruel, and selfish he had been ! How he 
would have condemned this policy in anyone else ! 

Slowly they walked homeward through the magic 
afterglow. The light faded, and grew dimmer and 
dimmer, and the stars came out. Neither said a word. 
From the wooded upland the country about looked 
phantom-like, unreal. Far off a dog barked. Nearer 
at hand, in the branches of one of the oak trees about 
them, a screech-owl stirred, and babbled its harsh 
call. Away in the hollow where the race track lay a 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


259 


light gleamed at the stables. The twigs cracked under 
their feet, and the dry leaves rustled as they passed 
among them. It grew darker. Julia caught the toe 
of her boot on something, and lurched forward. John 
grasped her by the arm, and quickly righted her. 
How good it was to feel his strong fingers drawing 
her away from harm ! Then he took her hand without 
speaking, and thus they went on. 

Later they stood at the portico steps. 

“I have been a coward!” he said, abruptly, “and 
there is nothing I have shunned more all my life. I 
have been unfair to you, and if it is not too late I 
want to set myself right. Perhaps it is weakness to 
tell you that I have tried — but I have. The strength 
is mine now, and it will not desert me. Will you see 
me tomorrow night, and hear my story 

The “yes” which came from her lips was faint in- 
deed, but he heard, and pressed her hand in farewell. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Early the next morning a telegram came for Julia. 
From its condensed message she learned that her 
room-mate at college, who was likewise a dear and 
intimate friend, had been taken seriously ill, and 
wanted her to come on the first train. Major Dudley 
was present when she received the summons, and she 
immediately asked his advice. It was that she should 
depart on the noon train for the East, and remain as 
long as circumstances required. He was feeling 
prime, and Aunt Frances and Peter should look after 
his comfort. 

Transfixed upon the horns of this new dilemma, 
Julia rushed upstairs and began mechanically to get 
her things together for a hurried departure. She 
knew that she would go, although she told herself re- 
peatedly that she could not. She must be at home 
that evening, for her future happiness depended upon 
the issue of that night. Yet Bess was sick — des- 
perately ill — and had wired her to hasten. Yes, she 
would go to her friend in distress, and send a note by 
Peter to Doctor Glenning, advising him of this un- 
foreseen emergency. Perhaps it was just as well, she 
told herself at length, to prolong indefinitely the hour 
when he should tell her all. This, indeed, would be a 
supreme and unerring test. 

So it came to pass that the train for the East bore 


[ 260 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


261 


Miss Julia Dudley away from Macon that day at 
noon, and that Uncle Peter, for the second time, bore 
to Doctor Glenning a delicately tinted, square en- 
velope. John groaned when he read the note, and 
let his hands drop despairingly. Of course it could 
not be helped. He realized that she was right in go- 
ing, and he loved her the more for it, but the missive 
gave no date upon which the writer might return. 
There was nothing for him to do but live the days 
through as best he could until he should see her again, 
and keep himself strong. The waiting would be hard, 
but he could do it. All hesitation, all temporizing, 
had vanished. He would be ready for his part on the 
first evening after she came home. 

Filled with a peculiar elation, a joj^ful exultation, 
he went about his daily work with a song in his heart. 
He was looking far better than he did when he first 
came to Macon. His step was firmer, his eyes less 
sombre, his face not so haggard. So ten days passed, 
and fair week came, and the place began to fill up 
with visitors from neighbouring towns. Fair week in 
Kentucky naturally represents a good time. In this 
State, if in none other, the horse is king, and all 
homage and honour are given him on the days of the 
races. And fair week, like Christmas, comes only 
once a year, and is looked forward to with equally as 
much zest and impatience. On this important occa- 
sion the business houses, banks, and offices in general 
close their doors at noon, and do not open them again 
until the last heat of the last race is over. The three 
or four days during which the festivities occur are 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


sea 

one big holiday for young and old, and business cares 
and business thoughts are thrown to the wind. The 
fair in Macon this year began the second week in 
July, and continued four days, commencing with 
Wednesday. It promised to be the largest and best 
attended meeting of the kind ever held. There were 
entries for the various races from all all over the 
State, and some rare sport was promised when the 
blooded champions met to decide the victor. The 
purses were generous, the half mile track was con- 
ceded to be the best in the circuit, and spirits rose 
high in anticipation. There was to be a brass band 
from Louisville, an experienced starter from Lexing- 
ton, and the judges, for the most part, were horsemen 
selected from towns close at hand. 

John grew more and more restless as the days 
passed and Julia did not come. He had one letter 
from her, but she gave no hint as to when he might 
expect her home. He wrote at once and urged her to 
come as soon as she could, and, receiving no reply to 
this, fell to calling on the Major, hoping thus to hear 
something definite. She sent her father a message 
every day, but it was always about the sick friend, 
who had taken a slight turn for the better, but would 
not consent for Julia to leave her. 

It was the night before the day upon which the fair 
began, about eleven o’clock, when Glenning, sitting 
in his office with a worried face, received a call from 
the home of a wealthy merchant. He arose at once, 
and went to the house. It was a deep chest cold con- 
tracted by one of the members of the family which 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


263 


he had to treat, but it was close onto midnight when 
he came into the front hall for his hat. The servant 
who was waiting to let him out stepped forward and 
said that there was an old friend in the parlor who 
would like to speak to him. Slightly annoyed at this 
further demand upon his time, John opened the door 
indicated, and entered the room. 

A shiver as of the pangs of death enveloped him 
on the instant. He stood rigidly erect, his face grow- 
ing whiter and whiter until the pallor which rested 
upon it was ghastly. The room was a sumptuous 
apartment ; a bower of luxury. The furnishings were 
rich, but chaste, and blended harmoniously, creating 
an effect which soothed. A lamp burned on a table 
in the center of the room; a beautiful thing, glowing 
like some rare, exotic flower. The thick, ruby-tinted 
shade smothered the flame, and diffused it rosily. 
There was the odour of perfume in the air; not 
grossly rank, and offensive, but subtly elusive ; a deli- 
cate hint of some rare and sense-numbing attar. She 
stood a little to one side of the table. She was rather 
low, but superbly shaped. Her hands were behind 
her, with fingers loosely laced. The lamp-glow en- 
compassed her as in a subdued flame. It fell upon 
her burnished hair — dull gold and copper blent, and 
sank trembling into the depths of her eyes. Each 
feature was perfect, or so nearly perfect that the 
chastening light made it appear such. She was 
smiling. 

Thus they faced each other again. 

There was stark silence in the room. The man 


264 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


could not speak, and the woman was not yet ready 
to. He stood, scarcely breathing, arms at his sides, 
motionless. One straight lock of hair had fallen, and 
drew a sharp black line across his forehead. He was 
looking at her, steadily, desperately. His face was 
a mask of marble, but the woman knew too well that 
the volcano was there beneath all that icy calm ; surg- 
ing, seething, leaping and wrestling for a vent. 

“Aren’t you glad to see me.?” 

The voice was low and pleading, and full of melody. 
It smote upon the man’s sensibilities with the force 
and effect of an electric current. His muscles became 
convulsed ; his hands turned into clenched fists ; his 
jaws knotted. 

“No !” he said, at last, in a hollow monosyllable. 

“Yes, you are! Tell the truth. * * * How 

are you, John.?” 

She was coming towards him, still smiling, one half 
bare arm outheld, the embodiment and the perfect 
type of female loveliness. He avoided her, and moved 
to another part of the room. It was all back again, 
intensified an hundred fold. He knew it was of the 
devil ; he knew that the one great trial of his life was 
upon him. He did not love her in the least — he swore 
in his soul that moment that he bore no particle of 
affection for her. It was something else — something 
unearthly and horrible, which sought to draw him on. 
The other nights of dalliance which he had known re- 
turned, limned upon his conscience in lines of burning 
fire. And he had thought himself safe! He moved 
back a pace, where he could not see the angel-faced 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^65 


devils in her eyes. Look at her he must. She saw 
his fear, and laughed low in her full, white throat. 

“Won’t you shake hands with me, and tell me that 
you are glad to see me.^” 

There was no resentment in her voice or attitude 
that he had shunned her. She stood easily, the train 
to her dress sweeping over the soft carpet to one side 
as she had turned. The laces on her breast were 
creamy and feathery, and her girdle was a zone of 
gold. 

Again he waited till his voice was steady, and again 
he answered, “No !” 

“Won’t you but touch my hand if I ask you to.? — • 
for the sake of Jericho !” 

Her supplicating words brought madness, but the 
man withstood. He knew, through all the blinding 
wrack of emotions which tossed in his brain, that in 
distance alone was safety. Should he feel but her 
finger tips, he was damned. With that six or eight 
feet of floor space between them he was master of 
himself. For the third time he answered “No !” 

She had been unprepared for this reserve, this fear- 
ful coldness. The last time they were together — the 
last time! — and he had left without a word of fare- 
well to her, without telling her that he was going 
away. But she knew why he had gone. She was 
older than he, and had seen more of life. But the ele- 
ment of mercy in her soul was wofully deficient in 
magnitude. She made no further attempt at once 
after his third refusal, but stood with head slightly 
bent, and eyes downcast. 


266 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“You were not very just to me.” 

Her words came in silken soft purrs from her warm 
lips — and Glenning prayed ! 

“You treated me badly to go, with never a word, 
never a written message. I should not have done the 
same with you * * * John ! I have missed you 

sorely, but my pride has held me back from trying to 
communicate with you in any way. I have come for 
the first two days of the fair; I cannot stay longer. 
The people in this house are distant relatives. I did 
not know that I would see you, except, possibly, upon 
the street, and then I knew that you would not recog- 
nize me. I was present when they sent a message for 
you tonight, and I planned this meeting. I wanted to 
see you again, for a little while. I think you might 
sit down and talk with me for a moment. It can’t be 
for long, for the hour is late, you know.” 

The quality of her voice was as of one who had 
been mistreated. There were short breaks in it ; sup- 
pressions of emotion, and her head had bent towards 
the light, while the burnished disc of her coiled hair 
was as a spider’s woven mesh. 

“I came away because it was better for us both that 
I should come, and you know a farewell was out of 
the question. I do not see that I have used you badly. 
You know to what we were drifting. Why bandy 
words You know that had I stayed in Jericho my 
soul would have been lost today, and I would have 
been an outcast, or dead! It is better so. It is best 
that we never meet again if we can help it.” 

He spoke tensely and rapidly and moved towards 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 




the door as he concluded. But she was nearer it. The 
game was not played out. She silently glided in 
front of him and put her back against the door, 
stretching her arms out to form a barricade, and again 
she laughed — a sound which made the man recoil and 
nervously draw his hand across his forehead and 
eyes. 

He had heard it before! It awoke old mem- 
ories which he had believed dead, but the tomb of the 
heart will open again to a remembered word, laugh, 
expression, or perfume. And the attar ! It was hers. 
He had never smelled anything like it. It was 
Oriental in its mysterious sweetness and effect. Barely 
discernible to the nostrils, it crept to the brain and 
wrought shadow-pictures upon the tapestry of the 
mind which it were better for mortal eyes not to be- 
hold. He was feeling the force of this strange per- 
fume, which, coupled with her fascinating, if baneful 
personality, was beginning to beset him mercilessly. 
She knew her power, so well! But he was fortified 
with a hidden strength of which she did not know — 
brown eyes of trust, and a face as sweet and innocent 
as a flower. She barred his way. He could not pass 
until she gave him leave. He might have swept her 
aside with two fingers, but he was afraid to try. He 
knew what it was to be near her. 

“Let me pass !” he exclaimed, resting the knuckle 
of his forefinger upon the corner of the table. 

“You look very handsome tonight!” she told him, 
ignoring his demand. “Can you not find a like com- 
pliment in your heart for me.^” 


268 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


He did not reply, but his face was flushed and his 
breath was coming faster. 

“You seem to have aged considerably,” she re- 
sumed, “although it has been only a few weeks since 
you went away. But it has helped you. ♦ * * 

I’m going to give you a last chance now. Won’t you 
come and speak to me as you used to do.? If you 
won’t, I am coming to you !” 

Her arms fell to her sides. 

The man knew she meant it, and a rage which was 
his salvation began to mount slowly within him. 

“If I do as you ask, will you stand aside, and allow 
me to go.?” 

“Yes, if you will want to go — then !” 

He came straight towards her, his whole nature set 
and hard as adamant. Her head was bent as he ap- 
proached. Only when he stopped within arm’s 
length and held out his hand did she flash the wonder 
of her topaz eyes full into his, and giving him her 
hand, bent towards him in a last mighty effort to 
conquer. He felt the blood rush to his brain so that 
her face was blurred before him ; he was conscious of 
white arms gliding above his shoulders, then with a 
low, strangled curse of anger he had pushed her from 
him, and was in the hall. Another moment the outer 
door closed behind him, and he was creeping through 
the deserted streets, shivering as with palsy, an in- 
articulate blending of prayer, blasphemy, and an 
absent woman’s name upon his lips. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Glenning did not attend the fair the first two days. 
He had good and sufficient reasons for finding his 
practice so urgent that he could not leave it, but the 
afternoon of the third day he drove out. The sights 
and sounds which greeted him as he passed through 
the gates were all familiar. To one side some half 
grown boys were throwing at rag babies. Further 
on was the merry-go-round, piping its crazy tune, 
and carrying its precious freight of happy children. 
Yonder was the booth where beer was dispensed, and 
it had a liberal patronage, for the day was hot. 
Tents were scattered here and there, with gaudy, dis- 
torted pictures, representing something impossible in 
nature or art, reared before them to tempt the un- 
sophisticated. There, too, was the fakir, crying his 
swindling schemes in a strident voice. Nestled to the 
track, and crowded with restless humanity, was the 
grandstand. At one end of this was the betting shed. 
John secured his horse, and went around to the track 
stables. The races that afternoon had small interest 
for him. His thoughts were of The Prince, and his 
chances on the morrow. He found the door to the 
colt’s stall securely locked on the inside, and a stable 
hand laughingly told him that no one was allowed to 
enter. John rapped on the door and called Peter. 


[ 269 ] 


270 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


The old fellow recognized his voice and let him in, 
locking the door behind him. The stall was well 
lighted and John could see the colt plainly. He ap- 
peared in the best condition, and his bay coat was 
glistening from the constant rubbing his attendant 
gave him. 

“Does any one ever come in here but you. Uncle 
Peter.?” 

“No, suh! Dey ain’ nobody stuck he haid in heah 
’cep’ me!” 

“That’s right. No one else has any business in 
here. There’s lots of trickery about horse-racing. 
Uncle Peter, so don’t let a soul get within arm’s 
length of The Prince!” 

“Yo’ neen’ pester yo’ haid ’bout dat, suh!” 

“Miss Dudley has not yet returned, but the Major 
will be here tomorrow afternoon, and so will I. You 
ride The Prince, Uncle Peter.?” 

A pair of indignant white eyeballs rolled towards 
the questioner. 

“Yo’ ’low I gwi’ let any udder nigguh git straddle 
dis hoss ! Yes, suh, I ride ’im, ’n’ I ride ’im at de 
head ob de whole bunch !” 

“He is looking splendid,” John replied, and then 
he inspected the box stall carefully, seeing that there 
were no holes in which a horse might catch his foot 
and go lame. Then, with a few parting injunctions 
to Peter, he left the grounds. He remembered that 
the afternoon train from the East arrived at half 
past three, and there might be a letter. Fifteen min- 
utes later he was turning in the driveway in front of 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


m 


the Dudley mansion. There were people on the 
portico, and at first glance he saw that one was Julia, 
still in her traveling dress. And there was the Major 
— but the third was an old man he had never seen 
before. Probably some resident of Macon, who, learn- 
ing of the Major’s recent indisposition, had come out 
for a friendly chat. 

Glenning hitched his horse to a post at one side 
and turned eagerly to the house. Julia met him at 
the steps with eyes swimming in tears, and a face suf- 
fused with happiness. 

“There’s been some awful mistake !” she whispered, 
squeezing his hand unconsciously. “Uncle Arthur is 
not dead at all ; he is here with us !” 

It would be useless to attempt a description of the 
many feelings which assailed the young man when he 
heard this news. But his surprise and confusion 
were covered by the Major, who advanced joyfully 
on the instant, and took his hand. 

“My brother — Doctor Glenning! Lost for over 
half a lifetime and home again by the grace o’ God in 
time to see a Dudley hoss walk away from the pick 
o’ Marston’s stables I Sit down, all o’ you I Bless 
me, such a day I Daughter and brother on the same 
train, and neither knew each other till they met here 
on this portico j * * ^ Arthur, my boy, this is 

better than a julep with the thuhmometuh at ninety - 
nine in the shade — ’pon my soul! And all this mess 
about you bein’ dead and the money cornin’ in the 
nick o’ time to keep us out o’ the po’-house — ” 

“Father!” 


sm 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


“Sit down, all o’ you! I’m a bit excited, I fear! 

♦ * * Peter! Peter r 

“You’ll have to call louder than that. Major. 
Peter’s in a stall at the race track stables this minute, 
mothering The Prince.” 

While the Major was speaking John had been 
standing by Julia’s side, looking at the returned 
wanderer. He saw a man much like Major Dudley 
in height and build, with long white hair and a silvery 
beard which swept his chest. His face was tanned, 
his eyes keen, and his voice pleasant, though a trifle 
loud. 

“So he is, doctor — and tomorrow’s the day ! 
There’s so much to tell and so much to listen to. 

* * * Arthur, we’ll spend the remainder of our 

days talking and listening. * * * But the juleps ! 

Here, Julia, you’re even better than Peter at this 
decoction. Make us three, child. I know your 
uncle’s tired. Take a chair, doctor — ” 

But Glenning was already in the hall following 
swiftly in the train of the young lady commissioned 
to mix the drinks. He overtook her at the door be- 
tween the library and dining-room. She heard him 
in pursuit, and turned there to smile at him. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come !” he exclaimed, tak- 
ing her two hands and looking down into her eyes. 
“You have been away ages !” 

“So long.^” she laughed archly ; “did you miss me.?” 

She wrested herself free and ran to the old side- 
board, where the decanters and sugar sat. He was 
by her side on the instant. 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


27S 


“Can it not be tonight?” he pleaded. “Will — your 
uncle’s coming interfere?” 

She turned a sober face towards him. 

“It would not be right for me to absent myself 
from him the first evening after his arrival. You 
understand, don’t you?” 

“Certainly I do. I knew it was useless and silly 
for me to ask — but I want so much to have you to 
myself for one hour 1” 

“You shall — tomorrow night! ♦ ♦ ♦ What 

can it mean, Doctor Glenning? — ^that story of his 
death, and the money?” 

“Somebody has made a mistake,” he answered, and 
his face was very solemn. 

“Evidently they have, but that doesn’t cast any 
light on the mystery.” 

“It will be cleared up in time — ^let me carry that 
tray for you. It’s silver, and heavy as lead.” 

She consented, and they repaired to the porch, 
where the juleps were quaffed eagerly. Then John 
made his excuses, feeling somewhat out of place in the 
flush of this reunion, but first securing Julia’s prom- 
ise to accompany him to the races the following 
afternoon. 

0 * Kt * 

That day was one which the people of Macon and 
the country round about never forgot. A light rain 
fell in the forenoon, sufficient to do away with the 
dust without making mud. In consequence the track 
was perfect, the atmosphere tempered, and in the 
afternoon not a cloud showed in the sky. The Dud- 


274 ! 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


leys went early and found seats just in front of the 
wire, which was the most desirable location. The 
news of Arthur Dudley’s return had spread quickly, 
and people thronged about the two old men, for 
though he had always lived an isolated existence. 
Major Dudley enjoyed the respect and esteem of 
every one. The big race in which The Prince was 
expected to win his laurels was the last on the pro- 
gram, so there was plenty of time for receiving 
friends, and listening to the opinions of well-wishers. 
These were legion, for Marston had not a backer in 
all that vast throng. He was a pariah, by choice. 
He did not like people, and he did not want them to 
like him. He was on hand this afternoon. John saw 
his thick-set figure often in the crowd at the betting 
shed during the first races. He bet on his own horses, 
some of which were in every race, and he nearly al- 
ways won, for his thoroughbreds belonged to a strain 
which was hard to beat. 

A little after four the bell in the judges’ stand 
clanged for the last race. John turned to Julia, who 
sat by his side. 

“That summons The Prince!” he remarked, smil- 
ing. 

He had never seen her more beautiful. Her cheeks 
were flushed from excitement, and her eyes were 
starry. She sighed, and looked at him anxiously. 

“Be of good courage!” he said. “They cannot 
beat him !” 

The horses were beginning to appear, and a brave 
showing they made ; a sight to make any Kentuckian’s 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


£75 


heart swell with enthusiasm. Devil Marston’s two 
racers came up first, and Glenning saw that they were 
built in becoming manner. Then as the bay colt 
walked proudly down the stretch with Uncle Peter on 
his back, a thunderous wave of acclaim rent the air. 
John turned once more to Julia, and he saw that her 
eyes were moist. The weighing of the jockeys and 
the drawing for place went forward speedily. There 
were five entries, and Peter came in the middle, the 
third from the pole. Then the jockeys were in the 
saddle again, and had started up the stretch to score. 
Again the eyes of the man went to the girl beside him. 
Her gloved hands were over her face, and he could 
see that she was making a mighty effort for control. 
He heard the piercing voice of the starter ordering 
some one to hold back. 

“Look !” he exclaimed ; “don’t miss the getaway !” 

Her hands dropped and her face came up bravely. 
She was pale now. 

Leaning forward, John saw the line of horses com- 
ing nicely and well, and Peter trying with all his puny 
strength to hold The Prince in his place. His efforts 
were only partly successful, for the colt had come 
into his own at last, but as the group dashed under 
the wire that thrilling word “Go !” was hurled at 
them. There was a rustle and stir from end to end 
of the grandstand, as the immense crowd arose to its 
feet, the man and the girl with the rest. Their eyes 
were set on those fiying forms skimming over the 
earth like birds. To the first quarter there was 
scarcely any change, for there was no mongrel blood 


’276 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


racing in Kentucky on that great day. Neck and 
neck the brave brutes ran; panting side to panting 
side. So they whirled into the home stretch for the 
first time. Almost in front of his mistress the noble 
colt sprang out at the half, and took the pole! It 
was beyond belief I It was marvelous — unequalled in 
the annals of the turf! For it was not done in a 
quarter of a mile ; it was done at once, in half a dozen 
leaps. Julia’s heart sang with joy, and a choking 
feeling of elation hurt her throat. A smile of wonder- 
ment crept to her lips and stayed there, while The 
Prince led the next half mile and came under the wire 
two lengths ahead of Daystar, his closest antagonist. 

The wooden structure upon which they stood shook, 
so fierce and long was the applause, and hands were 
thrust at Major Dudley and Julia so fast that they 
could not take them all, while a confused chorus of 
congratulations was poured upon them. But this was 
only the beginning. There might be many more heats. 
John went on the track to have a closer look at The 
Prince. The colt was breathing deeply and regularly ; 
not a hair was turned from sweat and he showed no 
signs of distress. Some of the others were full of 
lather and were blowing heavily. The pace had been 
fast. Presently all withdrew to rest, and be rubbed 
down. Uncle Peter was exalted to the seventh heaven 
of delight as he rode away, prouder than Solomon in 
his palmiest days. 

The next heat, however, was a shock, a surprise 
and a revelation. Imperial Don, Devil Marston’s 
other entry, pushed his nose under the wire about six 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


m 

inches ahead of the colt’s. People were dumfounded, 
for the horse had run fourth in the first heat, and not 
one had supposed him to be a possible winner. 

Julia retained her self-possession, and spoke with 
a firm voice. 

“Please go and ask Uncle Peter the reason.” 

J ohn obediently made his way to The Prince’s side. 

“How did it happen he asked. 

Peter kicked his feet free of the stirrups, and slid 
to the ground. He was trembling all over, and his 
face had assumed a grayish hue. 

“I’ll tell yo’ suh, ’n’ yo’ tell Marse Dudley ’n’ de 
young Missus jes’ whut I tell yo’, foh dat am de fac’ ! 
Dis ol’ nigguh ain’ lib dese long yeahs foh nuffin. Now 
I gwi’ tell yo’ how ’twuz, ’n’ yo’ wanter pay ’tention. 
Dat fus’ time dis Don-hoss wahn’t nowhahs, ’n’ 
t’other’n o’ Deb’l Marston’s come a measly secon’. 
Dis time de Don-hoss he win by a gnat’s heel. Yo’ 
know why.^ Jis’ ’kase dey hil’ ’im up de fus’ time, 
a-savin’ ’im foh de secon’. Now I wants yo’ to look 
at dis heah hoss !” He placed a trembling hand upon 
The Prince’s arching neck. “Am he bio wed? Am 
he tahed? Am he standin’ on free feet? Am he haid 
down ’tw'een he laigs? Now look at de res’, ’n’ please 
yo’. Yondah’s dat Don-hoss, whut finks he’s done 
so much, scearcely able to git he breff ; ready to drap ! 
Yondah’s dat Daystah, whut didn’t do nuffin ’tall, ’n’ 
he’s dat wet wid sweat ’n’ weak dat he c’n hahdly stan’ 
on fo’ feet, let ’lone free. Now, suh, yo’ pay ’tention 
to me. Dem bosses hab done dey do. Dey’s tahed 
to deff, bofe ob ’em. Dey’s took tuhn ’bout runnin’ 


278 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


dis heah thuhuhbred, ’n’ one of ’em manage to creep 
’head o’ ’im, but dey’s done. Dey’ll try de same t’ing, 
time ’bout, dis nex’ race, but ’twon’t do. Dis boss 
am jus’ de same as if he’d nebber run a step. We’s 
gwi’ win, ’n’ yo’ c’n jis’ res’ on de wud o’ dis ol’ 
nigguh !” 

Uncle Peter’s explanation of the condition of af- 
fairs was, in truth, feasible, and it was equally true 
that Marston’s horses were feeling keenly the terrible 
strain they had just undergone. Of their pluck, 
mettle and speed there could be no doubt, but they 
did not have the bottom of the bay colt, whose sires 
were famed for their endurance. John took the old 
man by the hand. 

“Peter Dudley, don’t let a Marston win over you 
today ! I hope and believe you are right in all you’ve 
told me. I shall tell it over to Miss Dudley for her 
encouragement. You know what’s in this piece of 
horse-flesh — then get it out. And listen. Uncle Peter ! 
I’ve known horses intimately all my life. Let me sug- 
gest something to you. Trail the leading horse for 
the first half mile, then go to the front and stay 
there !” 

A moment later Glenning was back with Julia, tell- 
ing her and the Major of Peter’s explanation of the 
last heat. Julia was hopeful, but her father was in 
doubt. Glenning had his fears, too, but he kept them 
to himself. 

When the third heat was called it was found that 
two of the horses had been withdrawn, their owners 
seeing that victory was hopeless. This left The 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


279 


Prince, and Devil Marston’s Daystar and Imperial 
Don. Excitement was intense as the horses appeared 
for the final bout. An experienced eye could have 
seen that two of them were a little fagged, but the 
third was apparently as fresh and strong as he was 
the moment he left his stall for the first heat. 

As the horses scored for a start Imperial Don had 
the pole. The Prince was second, with Daystar on the 
outside. They came down fast, for their blood was 
up, and there was to be no dallying. They got off 
easily, and everyone in that vast assemblage drew a 
long breath, then became silent. Imperial Don held 
his place gallantly, but The Prince’s hot breath 
spouted upon his flank at every leap. The other 
horse was half a length behind. Thus they went, 
scarcely shifting their relative positions the first time 
around. Down the stretch and past the grandstand 
like winged things they flew, and then Imperial Don 
began to weaken. Again and again his rider applied 
the whip, but it was no use. The pace was simply 
killing, and the horse had done his best. At the quar- 
ter post The Prince took the pole, and Daystar, who 
had been held in reserve, came after him. He came 
like the wind, too — a long, white, phantom shape 
which seemed possessed of the devil. Before another 
quarter was run he was neck and neck with the bay 
colt, but there he stuck. It was a race good to behold. 
Thumping the springy earth in measured rhythm the 
fleet hoofs sped towards the goal. Into the home 
stretch they dashed. Three thousand pairs of eyes 
were watching them, and they seemed to know it. Like 


^80 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


a span in harness they plunged forward; like two 
engines of the rail. The Prince’s slim breast was 
flecked with white. His neck was outstretched; his 
pointed ears lay flat on his head. His long mane beat 
in the contorted face of the monkey-like figure on 
his back. Every strong muscle in all his lithe body 
was strained to the last limit. The racing blood of 
countless winners was aflame, and with almost human 
intelligence he strove bravely for the mastery. Inch 
by inch he began to lead away ! On towards the wire, 
his red-rimmed eyes bulging, his veined nostrils in- 
flamed and quivering. The watching people saw, and 
instantly such a shout arose that it pierced the blue 
above. Another moment, and the noble animal shot 
past the goal a neck ahead, and the race was won ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Glenning’s engagement was for eight o’clock the 
following evening, but he did not come till nine. Julia 
met him at the door, garbed in some dainty white 
stuff with lace about it, and wearing one rose in her 
hair, which waved from her forehead and was dressed 
low upon her neck. 

“I must apologize for my tardiness,” he said, 
gravely, as they walked into the library, which was 
softly lighted by a shaded lamp. “But as I was start- 
ing out I had an urgent call from a very poor family 
on the edge of town. A little child had fallen and 
broken its leg. It was a “charity call,” but I hope 
you will pardon me. I could not let it suffer.” 

She felt a warm glow steal to her cheeks as she 
listened. 

“You did right,” she told him; “I was sure you 
had a good reason for being late.” 

He tried to speak of the race, but could not. She 
was also mute. The hour was too tense for conven- 
tionalities. A silence fell between them. Then sud- 
denly the man gathered together all his moral strength 
and arose to his feet. She looked up quickly. He 
did not meet her eyes till he had walked to the mantel. 
Then, facing about, he leaned his elbow upon it, and 
returned her gaze. 

“The time is ripe for an understanding between 


[ 281 ] 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


28 ^ 

us,” he said, the awful strain under which he was 
labouring making his voice unnatural. 

The girl could see that the old haunting gloom had 
come to his eyes. He was very white, and the crescent 
scar upon his forehead was outlined sharply, even in 
the dim light. 

“It is a tale I had rather suffer death than tell, but 
I owe it to you before I can speak of other things 
which are in my heart.” 

She caught her breath at this, a quick, sibilant in- 
taking, and because her hands had at that moment 
begun to tremble, she clasped them in her lap. Her 
large, sympathetic eyes were watching him closely. 

“It is hard to begin,” he resumed, “but I must do 
it alone; you cannot help me. The fault has been 
mine; let the shame and anguish be mine, too. Would 
you object if I told you of something else first — it 
seems I am doomed to ask you to forgive much to- 
night!” 

The pathos and sorrow in his words were almost 
more than she could bear, but she signed her per- 
mission dumbly, and waited. 

“I think it all began that first night I saw you, in 
such distress. At any rate, my interest in you and 
your life was deep and genuine from that hour. I 
learned of your reverses — of your father’s investment 
in the bank stock. Then the time came when Marston 
withheld the dividend, and I knew that you were with- 
out resources. Tom Dillard and I got together to 
see what we could do. We seemed pretty helpless, 
for Marston had everything his own way. Then 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


^83 


something happened to me which gave me an idea. 
I had an uncle, too, whom I had not seen for years. 
He died a short time ago, and part of his estate came 
to me. It was in the shape of a life insurance policy 
which he had taken out in my favour without ever 
letting me know. When the check from the company 
came to me, through my uncle’s attorneys, the tempta- 
tion was more than I could resist.” He left the man- 
tel and took one step towards her, then stood firm- 
footed as he resumed, desperately. “I did it. I did 
it all. I fabricated the story of your uncle’s death, 
and the lawyer who sent Major Dudley that check 
from St. Louis was my good friend, to whom I wrote. 
He simply had to buy eastern exchange in place of 
the insurance company’s check. It was simple 
enough. Forgive me. I place my trust in your feel- 
ing heart and seeing soul, for without a clear vision 
and complete understanding in an affair like this 
there can be no forgiveness. Soon I will tell you why 
I did it all.” 

Her head had gently sunk as he was speaking. She 
did not look up when he stopped. She did under- 
stand. She knew in a fiash the reason for his course. 
But his revelation numbed her. She tingled from 
head to foot, and knew that should he command her 
eyes at this moment, swift surrender would follow. 
She waited for his voice, but it did not come. 

“Go on !” she said, so low that he guessed, rather 
than heard the words. 

He cast a glance around the room such as a drown- 
ing man might give when he felt the water closing 


284 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


over him. She had not encouraged him by so much 
as a flash from her eyes, and heaven knew he needed 
courage, if ever man did. She was so white and still ! 
So dainty and spotless ! Her folded hands were 
waxen, and her forehead and the one check which he 
could see were like some statue’s. Her breathing was 
so soft that it did not stir the bosom of her dress. 

“I have given you a suggestion of what befell me 
in Jericho ; since then you have heard distorted truths, 
or more probably vicious falsehoods, from another 
source. Now listen to what I say. It shall be the 
whole truth, with nothing added, and nothing taken 
from. 

“Jericho was my home. I was born and reared 
there, and I came back there after I had graduated 
in medicine, and began to practice. A number of 
families had moved into the place during the years I 
was away, and among them were a Mr. and Mrs. 
Lamberton. He was a traveling man, and was at 
home very little. The trouble began when I was 
called in one day, the occasion being some slight difii- 
culty in hearing. When I entered the room I was 
stricken still with amazement. I had never seen such a 
perfectly beautiful creature in all my life. She was 
young, not tall, and possessed of a wonderful wealth 
of colouring. The apartment was permeated by some 
essence entirely new to me, some rare and delightful 
perfume. She was reclining upon a couch, alone. 
She, of course, knew who I was, and she did not 
rise, but bade me come to her. I did as she asked, 
and took a vacant chair near her. At that day I knew 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


285 


practically nothing of women, good or bad. My path 
had been a pretty rough one, and I had all I could 
do to go forward, although there was always the wish 
within me to know and associate with women, the 
natural complement of man. She stated her trouble 
briefly and clearly, in a most pleasing tone, and when 
I endeavoured to put some necessary questions I 
found to my dismay that my mind was muddled, and 
wouldn’t work well. She smiled when she noticed my 
embarrassment. Whenever she turned her eyes upon 
me I felt dizzy. They were wine brown, and in them 
dwelt twin devils which beguiled. I had to touch her 
with my hands ; to put back the hair from the affected 
ear. I was young — I was far more innocent than 
she — so help me God ! I maintained my professional 
reserve with difficulty, and escaped from the room 
with my brain whizzing and my breast on fire. But 
the mischief was done. I could not forget her. I 
thought of her constantly during my waking hours. 
I did not stop to analyze the trend or character of my 
thoughts. At the time I do not think they had any 
definite shape. I simply could not withdraw my mind 
from that incident — ^that half hour in her presence. 
Nothing was said and nothing was done which a third 
person might not have heard and seen, but it was the 
awful suggestion back and beneath it all. Her atti- 
tude towards me, while not in the least familiar, was 
charged with an undefinable under current of what 
our future relations might become. I knew that I 
wished to see her again, but when the summons came 
on the second day from the one when I first called, I 


5286 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


hung back. I was afraid, who had never known fear 
before. I had no excuse for refusing to go. I was 
a servant of the public, and my presence was de- 
manded. To trump up a subterfuge would be to 
acknowledge to myself that I was a coward. I went. 

“She received me in the same room. This time she 
was snugly settled in a large, easy chair, and the un- 
bound glory of her hair swept down over the rich- 
hued house dress which she wore. This visit was con- 
siderably longer than the first. You know that a 
family physician very often shares the most intimate 
confidences of his patients. This day she told me 
something of her life; enough to lead me to believe 
that she was unhappily married, and that she and her 
husband were not congenial. A ready resentment 
sprang up in me towards the man who could call this 
superb being his, and then neglect her. So the wiles 
of Delilah were employed again, though at the time 
I did not suspect her. 

“Then there grew in my heart a strange passion 
for this woman. Love strove to mount, but it quickly 
discovered that that which it was called upon to meet 
was not love. Then the devils of the flesh tore at me 
and strove to drive me on — ^to utter and complete 
damnation! They had arisen insiduously, arming 
themselves as they advanced, and I soon found my- 
self in the throes of a struggle as old as the world of 
creation, and more difficult to overcome than any foe 
which might appear from without. These devils 
haunted, harassed, goaded and tortured me. They 
drove me to her again and again, and again and again 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


287 


I withstood them, holding fast to the sense of right 
within me, and striking back with all the moral 
strength of my nature. Then one day it was borne 
in upon me that I must yield — or retreat. No mere 
mortal could continue to face this most powerful of 
all earthly temptations, and keep himself unspotted. 
The last night we were together in Jericho she con- 
fessed her love for me, and offered me the bitter-sweet 
joy of her arms. Then a living God of mercy gave 
me the victory. Long ago I knew I did not love her. 
I knew that my feeling for her was born in hell — in 
the blackest and foulest corner thereof! She stood 
before me arrayed in voluptuous robes, the splendour 
of her perfect physical beauty dazzling me cruelly, 
and told me unabashed that she was mine, body and 
soul ! I swear to you that I had never said one word 
of love to her. I looked upon her, and the devils 
surged to the attack with thong and goad. But I 
did not raise my hands from my sides. I fought 
them back and after a while found my voice and told 
her this could not be. With the spoken words my 
strength returned, and I left her thus, without fare- 
well. The next night I came to Macon.” 

The deep, resonant tones ceased. The silence in 
the room was acute. Not even the sound of breathing 
was audible. 

“I found you, whom God sent to be my salvation. 
The battle was not ended, though I had put the visible 
cause of it away. But memory will not die, and the 
eyes of the mind constantly behold the visions of yes- 
terday. Now came the fight to stay away, and I 


S88 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


found it just as hard to win as the other. Had it 
not been for you, and the hope which I allowed to 
find root in my soul, I would surely have succumbed. 
But this hope grew, a pure, white flower, and it ban- 
ished the noisome weeds of grosser birth. Then a 
day came when I knew the old influence and the wild 
longing no more, for love had found me and had re- 
claimed me from the morass into which I had strayed. 
# # * I need not tell you that I have gone through 

perditions of living fire! You, sweet girl, know noth- 
ing of this. But what I said to you upon the lawn 
not many days ago I say to you again tonight — 
I have come through clean! It is not a debauched 
body and a rotten soul I am bringing as my offering 
to you tonight. High heaven bear me witness that 
all I say is true I I do not claim any especial worthi- 
ness, but I do disclaim and declare false the libelous 
stories which Devil Marston brought from Jericho ! 
You have heard the truth, and I am glad that at last 
you know.” 

An inflection almost of despair quivered through 
his last words. The girl before him was motionless, 
but now a rigour shook her from head to foot,' then 
passed, and she was still looking down, apparently 
unmoved, and lifeless. 

“There is yet another incident.” 

He spoke in a dead voice, without ring or timbre. 
He was hopeless, yet nerved to go to the last bitter 
dreg of confession. 

“I saw her once while you were in the East with 
your sick friend — a few days before the fair. It was 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


289 


quite accidental. I had a call from the Maddoxes 
one evening. She was there — had come as a visitor 
for the races — some sort of relative. As I was leav- 
ing the house a servant told me a friend wished to 
see me in the parlour. I did not remain long. The 
old charm was there, and I should have been lost with- 
out the protection of your spirit, which armed me 
as I had never been armed before. When I started 
to leave the room she attempted to detain me, but I 
thrust her aside, and went out. That is the whole 
story, and horrible enough it seems to me! I dare 
not think what it must seem to you — you sweet, shel- 
tered flower ! * * * Now that this miserable tale 

is told, I come tonight and offer you my love. It is 
a most tender feeling I harbour for you, Julia ; a pos- 
sessive, protective, jealous love, which would forever 
hold you safe and blameless ; which would forever 
cradle you in the house of my heart, deep-walled and 
warm. Nothing that would hurt, or harm, or blight, 
or frighten, or pain you should reach you in that 
sheltered fold within my breast. Won’t you say that 
you will come — you poor, little storm-beaten lamb, 
and give me the deep, dear joy of loving you and 
ministering unto you always.^” 

He did not approach her. He had no right. His 
confession stood like a wall between them until she 
should speak. Her face was burning now. He could 
see her flushed cheeks and tinted temples. That she 
still refrained from meeting his eyes kindled a faint 
flame of hope. 

“This is a strange story for a girl to hear,” she 


S90 


THE MAN FROM JERICHO 


said, speaking each word low, but distinctly. “I for- 
give you for the deception about the money. Uncle 
Arthur has returned wealthy, and we can refund that 
to you soon. “But — ” she raised her head and looked 
at him — “can I forgive the rest?” 

“Can you forgive it?” he repeated, pillowing his 
elbow on his palm, and resting his chin on his finger 
and thumb. “Can you forgive it? Your heart must 
answer. If you love me — if you love me — ” 

She could not endure the appeal in his eyes, and 
her own dropped, with a sigh. 

The moments raced past. 

“Julia, have you no word for me?” 

Silence unbroken. He waited for a while longer, 
then moved slowly towards the door. She heard his 
footsteps pass and recede, and it seemed that the hope 
of her life was going too. He reached the door lead- 
ing into the hall. 

“John !” 

The low call was weighted with despair and love. 

In a moment he was standing before her, with both 
her hands in his. 

“You called me !” he whispered, reading the mes- 
sage in her swimming eyes. “You called me !” 

“Back to happiness, John, if I can give it to you ! 
You have borne so much, poor boy!” 










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